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diff --git a/7987-0.txt b/7987-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..feed9ad --- /dev/null +++ b/7987-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,19545 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Fair Maid of Perth, by Sir Walter Scott + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Fair Maid of Perth + +Author: Sir Walter Scott + +Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7987] +Posting Date: July 27, 2009 +Last Updated: August 31, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FAIR MAID OF PERTH *** + + + + +Produced by Martin Robb + + + + + +THE FAIR MAID OF PERTH + +or + +ST. VALENTINE’S DAY + + +By Sir Walter Scott + + + + + +INTRODUCTORY. + +The ashes here of murder’d kings Beneath my footsteps sleep; And yonder +lies the scene of death, Where Mary learn’d to weep. + +CAPTAIN MARJORIBANKS. + + +Every quarter of Edinburgh has its own peculiar boast, so that the city +together combines within its precincts, if you take the word of the +inhabitants on the subject, as much of historical interest as of natural +beauty. Our claims in behalf of the Canongate are not the slightest. +The Castle may excel us in extent of prospect and sublimity of site; the +Calton had always the superiority of its unrivalled panorama, and has of +late added that of its towers, and triumphal arches, and the pillars of +its Parthenon. The High Street, we acknowledge, had the distinguished +honour of being defended by fortifications, of which we can show no +vestiges. We will not descend to notice the claims of more upstart +districts, called Old New Town and New New Town, not to mention the +favourite Moray Place, which is the Newest New Town of all. We will not +match ourselves except with our equals, and with our equals in age only, +for in dignity we admit of one. We boast being the court end of the +town, possessing the Palace and the sepulchral remains of monarchs, +and that we have the power to excite, in a degree unknown to the less +honoured quarters of the city, the dark and solemn recollections of +ancient grandeur, which occupied the precincts of our venerable Abbey +from the time of St. David till her deserted halls were once more made +glad, and her long silent echoes awakened, by the visit of our present +gracious sovereign. + +My long habitation in the neighbourhood, and the quiet respectability of +my habits, have given me a sort of intimacy with good Mrs. Policy, the +housekeeper in that most interesting part of the old building called +Queen Mary’s Apartments. But a circumstance which lately happened +has conferred upon me greater privileges; so that, indeed, I might, I +believe, venture on the exploit of Chatelet, who was executed for +being found secreted at midnight in the very bedchamber of Scotland’s +mistress. + +It chanced that the good lady I have mentioned was, in the discharge of +her function, showing the apartments to a cockney from London--not one +of your quiet, dull, commonplace visitors, who gape, yawn, and +listen with an acquiescent “umph” to the information doled out by the +provincial cicerone. No such thing: this was the brisk, alert agent of a +great house in the city, who missed no opportunity of doing business, +as he termed it--that is, of putting off the goods of his employers, +and improving his own account of commission. He had fidgeted through the +suite of apartments, without finding the least opportunity to touch upon +that which he considered as the principal end of his existence. Even the +story of Rizzio’s assassination presented no ideas to this emissary of +commerce, until the housekeeper appealed, in support of her narrative, +to the dusky stains of blood upon the floor. + +“These are the stains,” she said; “nothing will remove them from the +place: there they have been for two hundred and fifty years, and there +they will remain while the floor is left standing--neither water nor +anything else will ever remove them from that spot.” + +Now our cockney, amongst other articles, sold Scouring Drops, as they +are called, and a stain of two hundred and fifty years’ standing was +interesting to him, not because it had been caused by the blood of a +queen’s favourite, slain in her apartment, but because it offered +so admirable an opportunity to prove the efficacy of his unequalled +Detergent Elixir. Down on his knees went our friend, but neither in +horror nor devotion. + +“Two hundred and fifty years, ma’am, and nothing take it away? Why, if +it had been five hundred, I have something in my pocket will fetch it +out in five minutes. D’ye see this elixir, ma’am? I will show you the +stain vanish in a moment.” + +Accordingly, wetting one end of his handkerchief with the all deterging +specific, he began to rub away on the planks, without heeding the +remonstrances of Mrs. Policy. She, good soul, stood at first in +astonishment, like the abbess of St. Bridget’s, when a profane visitant +drank up the vial of brandy which had long passed muster among the +relics of the cloister for the tears of the blessed saint. The venerable +guardian of St. Bridget probably expected the interference of her +patroness--she of Holyrood might, perhaps, hope that David Ruzzio’s +spectre would arise to prevent the profanation. But Mrs. Policy stood +not long in the silence of horror. She uplifted her voice, and screamed +as loudly as Queen Mary herself when the dreadful deed was in the act of +perpetration-- + +“Harrow, now out, and walawa!” she cried. + +I happened to be taking my morning walk in the adjoining gallery, +pondering in my mind why the kings of Scotland, who hung around me, +should be each and every one painted with a nose like the knocker of +a door, when lo! the walls once more re-echoed with such shrieks as +formerly were as often heard in the Scottish palaces as were sounds of +revelry and music. Somewhat surprised at such an alarm in a place so +solitary, I hastened to the spot, and found the well meaning traveller +scrubbing the floor like a housemaid, while Mrs. Policy, dragging him +by the skirts of the coat, in vain endeavoured to divert him from his +sacrilegious purpose. It cost me some trouble to explain to the zealous +purifier of silk stockings, embroidered waistcoats, broadcloth, and deal +planks that there were such things in the world as stains which ought +to remain indelible, on account of the associations with which they are +connected. Our good friend viewed everything of the kind only as +the means of displaying the virtue of his vaunted commodity. He +comprehended, however, that he would not be permitted to proceed +to exemplify its powers on the present occasion, as two or three +inhabitants appeared, who, like me, threatened to maintain the +housekeeper’s side of the question. He therefore took his leave, +muttering that he had always heard the Scots were a nasty people, but +had no idea they carried it so far as to choose to have the floors of +their palaces blood boltered, like Banquo’s ghost, when to remove them +would have cost but a hundred drops of the Infallible Detergent Elixir, +prepared and sold by Messrs. Scrub and Rub, in five shilling and ten +shilling bottles, each bottle being marked with the initials of the +inventor, to counterfeit which would be to incur the pains of forgery. + +Freed from the odious presence of this lover of cleanliness, my good +friend Mrs. Policy was profuse in her expressions of thanks; and yet her +gratitude, instead of exhausting itself in these declarations, according +to the way of the world, continues as lively at this moment as if she +had never thanked me at all. It is owing to her recollection of this +piece of good service that I have the permission of wandering, like the +ghost of some departed gentleman usher, through these deserted halls, +sometimes, as the old Irish ditty expresses it-- + +Thinking upon things that are long enough ago;--and sometimes wishing +I could, with the good luck of most editors of romantic narrative, light +upon some hidden crypt or massive antique cabinet, which should yield to +my researches an almost illegible manuscript, containing the authentic +particulars of some of the strange deeds of those wild days of the +unhappy Mary. + +My dear Mrs. Baliol used to sympathise with me when I regretted that all +godsends of this nature had ceased to occur, and that an author might +chatter his teeth to pieces by the seaside without a wave ever wafting +to him a casket containing such a history as that of Automates; that +he might break his shins in stumbling through a hundred vaults without +finding anything but rats and mice; and become the tenant of a dozen +sets of shabby tenements without finding that they contained any +manuscript but the weekly bill for board and lodging. A dairymaid of +these degenerate days might as well wash and deck her dairy in hopes of +finding the fairy tester in her shoe. + +“It is a sad and too true a tale, cousin,” said Mrs. Baliol, “I am sure +we all have occasion to regret the want of these ready supplements to a +failing invention. But you, most of all, have right to complain that the +fairest have not favoured your researches--you, who have shown the world +that the age of chivalry still exists--you, the knight of Croftangry, +who braved the fury of the ‘London ‘prentice bold,’ in behalf of the +fair Dame Policy, and the memorial of Rizzio’s slaughter! Is it not a +pity, cousin, considering the feat of chivalry was otherwise so much +according to rule--is it not, I say, a great pity that the lady had not +been a little younger, and the legend a little older?” + +“Why, as to the age at which a fair dame loses the benefit of chivalry, +and is no longer entitled to crave boon of brave knight, that I leave +to the statutes of the Order of Errantry; but for the blood of Rizzio +I take up the gauntlet, and maintain against all and sundry that I +hold the stains to be of no modern date, but to have been actually the +consequence and the record of that terrible assassination.” + +“As I cannot accept the challenge to the field, fair cousin, I am +contented to require proof.” + +“The unaltered tradition of the Palace, and the correspondence of the +existing state of things with that tradition.” + +“Explain, if you please.” + +“I will. The universal tradition bears that, when Rizzio was dragged +out of the chamber of the Queen, the heat and fury of the assassins, who +struggled which should deal him most wounds, despatched him at the door +of the anteroom. At the door of the apartment, therefore, the greater +quantity of the ill fated minion’s blood was spilled, and there the +marks of it are still shown. It is reported further by historians, that +Mary continued her entreaties for his life, mingling her prayers with +screams and exclamations, until she knew that he was assuredly slain; on +which she wiped her eyes and said, ‘I will now study revenge.’” + +“All this is granted. But the blood--would it not wash out, or waste +out, think you, in so many years?” + +“I am coming to that presently. The constant tradition of the Palace +says, that Mary discharged any measures to be taken to remove the marks +of slaughter, which she had resolved should remain as a memorial to +quicken and confirm her purposed vengeance. But it is added that, +satisfied with the knowledge that it existed, and not desirous to have +the ghastly evidence always under her eye, she caused a traverse, as it +is called (that is, a temporary screen of boards), to be drawn along the +under part of the anteroom, a few feet from the door, so as to separate +the place stained with the blood from the rest of the apartment, and +involve it in considerable obscurity. Now this temporary partition still +exists, and, by running across and interrupting the plan of the roof +and cornices, plainly intimates that it has been intended to serve some +temporary purpose, since it disfigures the proportions of the room, +interferes with the ornaments of the ceiling, and could only have been +put there for some such purpose as hiding an object too disagreeable +to be looked upon. As to the objection that the bloodstains would have +disappeared in course of time, I apprehend that, if measures to efface +them were not taken immediately after the affair happened--if the blood, +in other words, were allowed to sink into the wood, the stain would +become almost indelible. Now, not to mention that our Scottish palaces +were not particularly well washed in those days, and that there were no +Patent Drops to assist the labours of the mop, I think it very probable +that these dark relics might subsist for a long course of time, even +if Mary had not desired or directed that they should be preserved, but +screened by the traverse from public sight. I know several instances +of similar bloodstains remaining for a great many years, and I doubt +whether, after a certain time, anything can remove them save the +carpenter’s plane. If any seneschal, by way of increasing the interest +of the apartments, had, by means of paint, or any other mode of +imitation, endeavoured to palm upon posterity supposititious stigmata, I +conceive that the impostor would have chosen the Queen’s cabinet and the +bedroom for the scene of his trick, placing his bloody tracery where it +could be distinctly seen by visitors, instead of hiding it behind +the traverse in this manner. The existence of the said traverse, or +temporary partition, is also extremely difficult to be accounted for, if +the common and ordinary tradition be rejected. In short, all the rest of +this striking locality is so true to the historical fact, that I think +it may well bear out the additional circumstance of the blood on the +floor.” + +“I profess to you,” answered Mrs. Baliol, “that I am very willing to be +converted to your faith. We talk of a credulous vulgar, without always +recollecting that there is a vulgar incredulity, which, in historical +matters as well as in those of religion, finds it easier to doubt than +to examine, and endeavours to assume the credit of an esprit fort, +by denying whatever happens to be a little beyond the very limited +comprehension of the sceptic. And so, that point being settled, and +you possessing, as we understand, the open sesamum into these secret +apartments, how, if we may ask, do you intend to avail yourself of your +privilege? Do you propose to pass the night in the royal bedchamber?” + +“For what purpose, my dear lady? If to improve the rheumatism, this east +wind may serve the purpose.” + +“Improve the rheumatism! Heaven forbid! that would be worse than adding +colours to the violet. No, I mean to recommend a night on the couch of +the nose of Scotland, merely to improve the imagination. Who knows +what dreams might be produced by a night spent in a mansion of so many +memories! For aught I know, the iron door of the postern stair +might open at the dead hour of midnight, and, as at the time of the +conspiracy, forth might sally the phantom assassins, with stealthy step +and ghastly look, to renew the semblance of the deed. There comes the +fierce fanatic Ruthven, party hatred enabling him to bear the armour +which would otherwise weigh down a form extenuated by wasting disease. +See how his writhen features show under the hollow helmet, like those of +a corpse tenanted by a demon, whose vindictive purpose looks out at +the flashing eyes, while the visage has the stillness of death. Yonder +appears the tall form of the boy Darnley, as goodly in person as +vacillating in resolution; yonder he advances with hesitating step, and +yet more hesitating purpose, his childish fear having already overcome +his childish passion. He is in the plight of a mischievous lad who +has fired a mine, and who now, expecting the explosion in remorse and +terror, would give his life to quench the train which his own hand +lighted. Yonder--yonder--But I forget the rest of the worthy cutthroats. +Help me if you can.” + +“Summon up,” said I, “the postulate, George Douglas, the most active of +the gang. Let him arise at your call--the claimant of wealth which he +does not possess, the partaker of the illustrious blood of Douglas, but +which in his veins is sullied with illegitimacy. Paint him the ruthless, +the daring, the ambitious--so nigh greatness, yet debarred from it; so +near to wealth, yet excluded from possessing it; a political Tantalus, +ready to do or dare anything to terminate his necessities and assert his +imperfect claims.” + +“Admirable, my dear Croftangry! But what is a postulate?” + +“Pooh, my dear madam, you disturb the current of my ideas. The postulate +was, in Scottish phrase, the candidate for some benefice which he had +not yet attained. George Douglas, who stabbed Rizzio, was the postulate +for the temporal possessions of the rich abbey of Arbroath.” + +“I stand informed. Come, proceed; who comes next?” continued Mrs. +Baliol. + +“Who comes next? Yon tall, thin made, savage looking man, with the +petronel in his hand, must be Andrew Ker of Faldonside, a brother’s son, +I believe, of the celebrated Sir David Ker of Cessford; his look and +bearing those of a Border freebooter, his disposition so savage that, +during the fray in the cabinet, he presented his loaded piece at the +bosom of the young and beautiful Queen, that queen also being within a +few weeks of becoming a mother.” + +“Brave, beau cousin! Well, having raised your bevy of phantoms, I hope +you do not intend to send them back to their cold beds to warm them? You +will put them to some action, and since you do threaten the Canongate +with your desperate quill, you surely mean to novelise, or to dramatise, +if you will, this most singular of all tragedies?” + +“Worse--that is less interesting--periods of history have been, indeed, +shown up, for furnishing amusement to the peaceable ages which, have +succeeded but, dear lady, the events are too well known in Mary’s days +to be used as vehicles of romantic fiction. What can a better writer +than myself add to the elegant and forcible narrative of Robertson? +So adieu to my vision. I awake, like John Bunyan, ‘and behold it is a +dream.’ Well enough that I awake without a sciatica, which would have +probably rewarded my slumbers had I profaned Queen Mary’s bed by using +it as a mechanical resource to awaken a torpid imagination.” + +“This will never do, cousin,” answered Mrs. Baliol; “you must get over +all these scruples, if you would thrive in the character of a romantic +historian, which you have determined to embrace. What is the classic +Robertson to you? The light which he carried was that of a lamp to +illuminate the dark events of antiquity; yours is a magic lantern to +raise up wonders which never existed. No reader of sense wonders at your +historical inaccuracies, any more than he does to see Punch in the show +box seated on the same throne with King Solomon in his glory, or to +hear him hallooing out to the patriarch, amid the deluge, ‘Mighty hazy +weather, Master Noah.’” + +“Do not mistake me, my dear madam,” said I; “I am quite conscious of +my own immunities as a tale teller. But even the mendacious Mr. Fag, in +Sheridan’s Rivals, assures us that, though he never scruples to tell +a lie at his master’s command, yet it hurts his conscience to be found +out. Now, this is the reason why I avoid in prudence all well known +paths of history, where every one can read the finger posts carefully +set up to advise them of the right turning; and the very boys and girls, +who learn the history of Britain by way of question and answer, hoot at +a poor author if he abandons the highway.” + +“Do not be discouraged, however, cousin Chrystal. There are plenty of +wildernesses in Scottish history, through which, unless I am greatly +misinformed, no certain paths have been laid down from actual survey, +but which are only described by imperfect tradition, which fills up +with wonders and with legends the periods in which no real events are +recognised to have taken place. Even thus, as Mat Prior says: + +“Geographers on pathless downs Place elephants instead of towns.” + +“If such be your advice, my dear lady,” said I, “the course of my story +shall take its rise upon this occasion at a remote period of history, +and in a province removed from my natural sphere of the Canongate.” + +It was under the influence of those feelings that I undertook the +following historical romance, which, often suspended and flung aside, +is now arrived at a size too important to be altogether thrown away, +although there may be little prudence in sending it to the press. + +I have not placed in the mouth of the characters the Lowland Scotch +dialect now spoken, because unquestionably the Scottish of that day +resembled very closely the Anglo Saxon, with a sprinkling of French +or Norman to enrich it. Those who wish to investigate the subject may +consult the Chronicles of Winton and the History of Bruce by Archdeacon +Barbour. But supposing my own skill in the ancient Scottish were +sufficient to invest the dialogue with its peculiarities, a translation +must have been necessary for the benefit of the general reader. The +Scottish dialect may be therefore considered as laid aside, unless +where the use of peculiar words may add emphasis or vivacity to the +composition. + + + + +PREFACE. + +In continuing the lucubrations of Chrystal Croftangry, it occurred +that, although the press had of late years teemed with works of various +descriptions concerning the Scottish Gad, no attempt had hitherto been +made to sketch their manners, as these might be supposed to have +existed at the period when the statute book, as well as the page of the +chronicler, begins to present constant evidence of the difficulties to +which the crown was exposed, while the haughty house of Douglas all but +overbalanced its authority on the Southern border, and the North was +at the same time torn in pieces by the yet untamed savageness of the +Highland races, and the daring loftiness to which some of the remoter +chieftains still carried their pretensions. + +The well authenticated fact of two powerful clans having deputed each +thirty champions to fight out a quarrel of old standing, in presence of +King Robert III, his brother the Duke of Albany, and the whole court of +Scotland, at Perth, in the year of grace 1396, seemed to mark with +equal distinctness the rancour of these mountain feuds and the degraded +condition of the general government of the country; and it was fixed +upon accordingly as the point on which the main incidents of a romantic +narrative might be made to hinge. The characters of Robert III, +his ambitious brother, and his dissolute son seemed to offer some +opportunities of interesting contrast; and the tragic fate of the heir +of the throne, with its immediate consequences, might serve to complete +the picture of cruelty and lawlessness. + +Two features of the story of this barrier battle on the Inch of +Perth--the flight of one of the appointed champions, and the reckless +heroism of a townsman, that voluntarily offered for a small piece +of coin to supply his place in the mortal encounter--suggested the +imaginary persons, on whom much of the novel is expended. The fugitive +Celt might have been easily dealt with, had a ludicrous style of +colouring been adopted; but it appeared to the Author that there would +be more of novelty, as well as of serious interest, if he could succeed +in gaining for him something of that sympathy which is incompatible with +the total absence of respect. Miss Baillie had drawn a coward by +nature capable of acting as a hero under the strong impulse of filial +affection. It seemed not impossible to conceive the case of one +constitutionally weak of nerve being supported by feelings of honour and +of jealousy up to a certain point, and then suddenly giving way, under +circumstances to which the bravest heart could hardly refuse compassion. + +The controversy as to who really were the clans that figured in the +barbarous conflict of the Inch has been revived since the publication of +the Fair Maid of Perth, and treated in particular at great length by Mr. +Robert Mackay of Thurso, in his very curious History of the House and +Clan of Mackay. Without pretending to say that he has settled any part +of the question in the affirmative, this gentleman certainly seems to +have quite succeeded in proving that his own worthy sept had no part in +the transaction. The Mackays were in that age seated, as they have since +continued to be, in the extreme north of the island; and their chief at +the time was a personage of such importance, that his name and proper +designation could not have been omitted in the early narratives of the +occurrence. He on one occasion brought four thousand of his clan to the +aid of the royal banner against the Lord of the Isles. This historian is +of opinion that the Clan Quhele of Wyntoun were the Camerons, who appear +to have about that period been often designated as Macewans, and to +have gained much more recently the name of Cameron, i.e. Wrynose, from a +blemish in the physiognomy of some heroic chief of the line of Lochiel. +This view of the case is also adopted by Douglas in his Baronage, where +he frequently mentions the bitter feuds between Clan Chattan and Clan +Kay, and identifies the latter sept in reference to the events of 1396, +with the Camerons. It is perhaps impossible to clear up thoroughly this +controversy, little interesting in itself, at least to readers on +this side of Inverness. The names, as we have them in Wyntoun, are +“Clanwhewyl” and “Clachinya,” the latter probably not correctly +transcribed. In the Scoti Chronicon they are “Clanquhele” and “Clankay. +Hector Boece writes Clanchattan” and “Clankay,” in which he is followed +by Leslie while Buchanan disdains to disfigure his page with their +Gaelic designations at all, and merely describes them as two powerful +races in the wild and lawless region beyond the Grampians. Out of +this jumble what Sassenach can pretend dare lucem? The name Clanwheill +appears so late as 1594, in an Act of James VI. Is it not possible that +it may be, after all, a mere corruption of Clan Lochiel? + +The reader may not be displeased to have Wyntoun’s original rhymes [bk. +ix. chap. xvii.]: + + + A thousand and thre hundyr yere, + Nynty and sex to mak all clere-- + Of thre scor wyld Scottis men, + Thretty agane thretty then, + In felny bolnit of auld fed, + [Boiled with the cruelty of an old feud] + As thare forelderis ware slane to dede. + Tha thre score ware clannys twa, + Clahynnhe Qwhewyl and Clachinyha; + Of thir twa kynnis ware tha men, + Thretty agane thretty then; + And thare thai had than chiftanys twa, + Scha Ferqwharis’ son wes ane of tha, + The tother Cristy Johnesone. + A selcouth thing be tha was done. + At Sanct Johnestone besid the Freris, + All thai entrit in barreris + Wyth bow and ax, knyf and swerd, + To deil amang thaim thare last werd. + Thare thai laid on that time sa fast, + Quha had the ware thare at the last + I will noucht say; hot quha best had, + He wes but dout bathe muth and mad. + Fifty or ma ware slane that day, + Sua few wyth lif than past away. + +The prior of Lochleven makes no mention either of the evasion of one +of the Gaelic champions, or of the gallantry of the Perth artisan, in +offering to take a share in the conflict. Both incidents, however, +were introduced, no doubt from tradition, by the Continuator of Fordun +[Bower], whose narrative is in these words: + + +Anno Dom. millesimo trecentesimo nonagesimo sexto, magna pars borealis +Scotiae, trans Alpes, inquietata fuit per duos pestiferos Cateranos, et +eorum sequaces, viz. Scheabeg et suos consanguinarios, qui Clankay, et +Cristi Jonsonem ac suos, qui Clanqwhele dicebantur; qui nullo pacto +vel tractatu pacificari poterant, nullaque arte regis vel gubernatoris +poterant edomari, quoadusque nobilis et industriosus Dominus David de +Lindesay de Crawford, at Dominus Thomas comes Moraviae, diligentiam et +vires apposuerunt, ac inter partes sic tractaverunt, ut coram domino +rege certo die convenirent apud Perth, et alterutra pars eligeret de +progenie sua triginta personas adversus triginta de parte contraria, +cum gladiis tantum, et arcubus et sagittis, absque deploidibus, vel +armaturis aliis, praeter bipennes; et sic congredientes finem liti +ponerant, et terra pace potiretur. Utrique igitur parti summe placuit +contractus, et die lunae proximo ante festum Sancti Michaelis, apud +North insulam de Perth, coram rege et gubernatore et innumerabili +multitudine comparentes, conflictum acerrimum inierunt; ubi de sexaginta +interfecti sunt omnes, excepto uno ex parte Clankay et undecim exceptis +ex parte altera. Hoc etiam ibi accidit, quod omnes in procinctu belli +constituti, unus eorum locum diffugii considerans, inter omnes in +amnem elabitur, et aquam de Thaya natando transgreditur; a millenis +insequitur, sed nusquam apprehenditur. Stant igitur partes attonitae, +tanquam non ad conflictum progressuri, ob defectum evasi: noluit enim +pars integrum habens numerum sociorum consentire, ut unus de suis +demeretur; nec potuit pars altera quocumque pretio alterum ad supplendum +vicem fugientis inducere. Stupent igitur omnes haerentes, de damno +fugitivi conquerentes. Et cum totum illud opus cessare putaretur, ecce +in medio prorupit unus stipulosus vernaculus, statura modicus, sed +efferus, dicens: Ecce ego! quis me conducet intrare cum operariis istis +ad hunc ludum theatralem? Pro dimidia enim marca ludum experiar, ultra +hoc petens, ut si vivus de palaestra evasero, victum a quocumque vestrum +recipiam dum vixero: quia, sicut dicitur, “Majorem caritatem nemo habet, +quam ut animam suam ponat suis pro amicis.” Quali mercede donabor, qui +animam meam pro inimicis reipublicae et regni pono? Quod petiit, a rege +et diversis magnatibus conceditur. Cum hoc arcus ejus extenditur, et +primo sagittam in partem contrariam transmittit, et unum interficit. +Confestim hinc inde sagittae volitant, bipennes librant, gladios +vibrant, alterutro certant, et veluti carnifices boves in macello, sic +inconsternate ad invicem se trucidant. Sed nec inter tantos repertus +est vel unus, qui, tanquam vecors ant timidus, sive post tergum alterius +declinans, seipsum a tanta caede praetendit excusare. Iste tamen tyro +superveniens finaliter illaesus exivit; et dehinc multo tempore Boreas +quievit, nec ibidem fuit, ut supra, cateranorum excursus. + +The scene is heightened with many florid additions by Boece and Leslie, +and the contending savages in Buchanan utter speeches after the most +approved pattern of Livy. + +The devotion of the young chief of Clan Quhele’s foster father and +foster brethren in the novel is a trait of clannish fidelity, of which +Highland story furnishes many examples. In the battle of Inverkeithing, +between the Royalists and Oliver Cromwell’s troops, a foster father and +seven brave sons are known to have thus sacrificed themselves for Sir +Hector Maclean of Duart; the old man, whenever one of his boys fell, +thrusting forward another to fill his place at the right hand of the +beloved chief, with the very words adopted in the novel, “Another for +Hector!” + +Nay, the feeling could outlive generations. The late much lamented +General Stewart of Garth, in his account of the battle of Killiecrankie, +informs us that Lochiel was attended on the field by the son of his +foster brother. + +“This faithful adherent followed him like his shadow, ready to assist +him with his sword, or cover him from the shot of the enemy. Suddenly +the chief missed his friend from his side, and, turning round to look +what had become of him, saw him lying on his back with his breast +pierced by an arrow. He had hardly breath, before he expired, to tell +Lochiel that, seeing an enemy, a Highlander in General Mackay’s army, +aiming at him with a bow and arrow, he sprung behind him, and thus +sheltered him from instant death. This” observes the gallant David +Stewart, “is a species of duty not often practised, perhaps, by our aide +de camps of the present day.”--Sketches of the Highlanders, vol. i. p. +65. + +I have only to add, that the Second Series of Chronicles of the +Canongate, with the chapter introductory which precedes, appeared in +May, 1828, and had a favourable reception. + +ABBOTSFORD, Aug. 15, 1831. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + “Behold the Tiber,” the vain Roman cried, + Viewing the ample Tay from Baiglie’s side; + But where’s the Scot that would the vaunt repay, + And hail the puny Tiber for the Tay? + + Anonymous. + + +Among all the provinces in Scotland, if an intelligent stranger were +asked to describe the most varied and the most beautiful, it is probable +he would name the county of Perth. A native also of any other district +of Caledonia, though his partialities might lead him to prefer his +native county in the first instance, would certainly class that of Perth +in the second, and thus give its inhabitants a fair right to plead that, +prejudice apart, Perthshire forms the fairest portion of the Northern +kingdom. It is long since Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, with that excellent +taste which characterises her writings, expressed her opinion that the +most interesting district of every country, and that which exhibits the +varied beauties of natural scenery in greatest perfection, is that where +the mountains sink down upon the champaign, or more level land. The +most picturesque, if not the highest, hills are also to be found in the +county of Perth. The rivers find their way out of the mountainous region +by the wildest leaps, and through the most romantic passes connecting +the Highlands with the Lowlands. Above, the vegetation of a happier +climate and soil is mingled with the magnificent characteristics of +mountain scenery, and woods, groves, and thickets in profusion clothe +the base of the hills, ascend up the ravines, and mingle with the +precipices. It is in such favoured regions that the traveller finds what +the poet Gray, or some one else, has termed beauty lying in the lap of +terror. + +From the same advantage of situation, this favoured province presents a +variety of the most pleasing character. Its lakes, woods, and mountains +may vie in beauty with any that the Highland tour exhibits; while +Perthshire contains, amidst this romantic scenery, and in some places in +connexion with it, many fertile and habitable tracts, which may vie +with the richness of merry England herself. The county has also been +the scene of many remarkable exploits and events, some of historical +importance, others interesting to the poet and romancer, though recorded +in popular tradition alone. It was in these vales that the Saxons of +the plain and the Gad of the mountains had many a desperate and bloody +encounter, in which it was frequently impossible to decide the palm of +victory between the mailed chivalry of the low country and the plaided +clans whom they opposed. + +Perth, so eminent for the beauty of its situation, is a place of great +antiquity; and old tradition assigns to the town the importance of +a Roman foundation. That victorious nation, it is said, pretended to +recognise the Tiber in the much more magnificent and navigable Tay, +and to acknowledge the large level space, well known by the name of the +North Inch, as having a near resemblance to their Campus Martins. The +city was often the residence of our monarchs, who, although they had no +palace at Perth, found the Cistercian convent amply sufficient for the +reception of their court. It was here that James the First, one of the +wisest and best of the Scottish kings, fell a victim to the jealousy of +the vengeful aristocracy. Here also occurred the mysterious conspiracy +of Gowrie, the scene of which has only of late been effaced by the +destruction of the ancient palace in which the tragedy was acted. The +Antiquarian Society of Perth, with just zeal for the objects of their +pursuit, have published an accurate plan of this memorable mansion, with +some remarks upon its connexion with the narrative of the plot, which +display equal acuteness and candour. + +One of the most beautiful points of view which Britain, or perhaps the +world, can afford is, or rather we may say was, the prospect from a +spot called the Wicks of Baiglie, being a species of niche at which the +traveller arrived, after a long stage from Kinross, through a waste and +uninteresting country, and from which, as forming a pass over the +summit of a ridgy eminence which he had gradually surmounted, he beheld, +stretching beneath him, the valley of the Tay, traversed by its ample +and lordly stream; the town of Perth, with its two large meadows, or +inches, its steeples, and its towers; the hills of Moncrieff and Kinnoul +faintly rising into picturesque rocks, partly clothed with woods; the +rich margin of the river, studded with elegant mansions; and the +distant view of the huge Grampian mountains, the northern screen of this +exquisite landscape. The alteration of the road, greatly, it must +be owned, to the improvement of general intercourse, avoids this +magnificent point of view, and the landscape is introduced more +gradually and partially to the eye, though the approach must be still +considered as extremely beautiful. There is still, we believe, a +footpath left open, by which the station at the Wicks of Baiglie may be +approached; and the traveller, by quitting his horse or equipage, and +walking a few hundred yards, may still compare the real landscape with +the sketch which we have attempted to give. But it is not in our power +to communicate, or in his to receive, the exquisite charm which surprise +gives to pleasure, when so splendid a view arises when least expected or +hoped for, and which Chrystal Croftangry experienced when he beheld, for +the first time, the matchless scene. + +Childish wonder, indeed, was an ingredient in my delight, for I was not +above fifteen years old; and as this had been the first excursion which +I was permitted to make on a pony of my own, I also experienced the +glow of independence, mingled with that degree of anxiety which the most +conceited boy feels when he is first abandoned to his own undirected +counsels. I recollect pulling up the reins without meaning to do so, +and gazing on the scene before me as if I had been afraid it would shift +like those in a theatre before I could distinctly observe its different +parts, or convince myself that what I saw was real. Since that hour, and +the period is now more than fifty years past, the recollection of that +inimitable landscape has possessed the strongest influence over my +mind, and retained its place as a memorable thing, when much that was +influential on my own fortunes has fled from my recollection. It is +therefore unnatural that, whilst deliberating on what might be brought +forward for the amusement of the public, I should pitch upon some +narrative connected with the splendid scenery which made so much +impression on my youthful imagination, and which may perhaps have that +effect in setting off the imperfections of the composition which ladies +suppose a fine set of china to possess in heightening the flavour of +indifferent tea. + +The period at which I propose to commence is, however, considerably +earlier of the remarkable historical transactions to which I have +already alluded, as the events which I am about to recount occurred +during the last years of the 14th century, when the Scottish sceptre was +swayed by the gentle but feeble hand of John, who, on being called to +the throne, assumed the title of Robert the Third. + + + +CHAPTER II. + + A country lip may have the velvet touch; + Though she’s no lady, she may please as much. + + DRYDEN. + + +Perth, boasting, as we have already mentioned, so large a portion of the +beauties of inanimate nature, has at no time been without its own share +of those charms which are at once more interesting and more transient. +To be called the Fair Maid of Perth would at any period have been a +high distinction, and have inferred no mean superiority in beauty, where +there were many to claim that much envied attribute. But, in the feudal +times to which we now call the reader’s attention, female beauty was a +quality of much higher importance than it has been since the ideas of +chivalry have been in a great measure extinguished. The love of the +ancient cavaliers was a licensed species of idolatry, which the love of +Heaven alone was theoretically supposed to approach in intensity, and +which in practice it seldom equalled. God and the ladies were familiarly +appealed to in the same breath; and devotion to the fair sex was as +peremptorily enjoined upon the aspirant to the honour of chivalry as +that which was due to Heaven. At such a period in society, the power of +beauty was almost unlimited. It could level the highest rank with that +which was immeasurably inferior. + +It was but in the reign preceding that of Robert III. that beauty alone +had elevated a person of inferior rank and indifferent morals to share +the Scottish throne; and many women, less artful or less fortunate, had +risen to greatness from a state of concubinage, for which the manners +of the times made allowance and apology. Such views might have dazzled +a girl of higher birth than Catharine, or Katie, Glover, who was +universally acknowledged to be the most beautiful young woman of the +city or its vicinity, and whose renown, as the Fair Maid of Perth, had +drawn on her much notice from the young gallants of the royal court, +when it chanced to be residing in or near Perth, insomuch that more than +one nobleman of the highest rank, and most distinguished for deeds of +chivalry, were more attentive to exhibit feats of horsemanship as they +passed the door of old Simon Glover, in what was called Couvrefew, or +Curfew, Street, than to distinguish themselves in the tournaments, where +the noblest dames of Scotland were spectators of their address. But the +glover’s daughter--for, as was common with the citizens and artisans of +that early period, her father, Simon, derived his surname from the trade +which he practised--showed no inclination to listen to any gallantry +which came from those of a station highly exalted above that which she +herself occupied, and, though probably in no degree insensible to her +personal charms, seemed desirous to confine her conquests to those who +were within her own sphere of life. Indeed, her beauty being of that +kind which we connect more with the mind than with the person, was, +notwithstanding her natural kindness and gentleness of disposition, +rather allied to reserve than to gaiety, even when in company with her +equals; and the earnestness with which she attended upon the exercises +of devotion induced many to think that Catharine Glover nourished the +private wish to retire from the world and bury herself in the recesses +of the cloister. But to such a sacrifice, should it be meditated, it +was not to be expected her father, reputed a wealthy man and having this +only child, would yield a willing consent. + +In her resolution of avoiding the addresses of the gallant courtiers, +the reigning beauty of Perth was confirmed by the sentiments of her +parent. + +“Let them go,” he said--“let them go, Catharine, those gallants, with +their capering horses, their jingling spurs, their plumed bonnets, and +their trim mustachios: they are not of our class, nor will we aim at +pairing with them. Tomorrow is St. Valentine’s Day, when every bird +chooses her mate; but you will not see the linnet pair with the sparrow +hawk, nor the Robin Redbreast with the kite. My father was an honest +burgher of Perth, and could use his needle as well as I can. Did there +come war to the gates of our fair burgh, down went needles, thread, and +shamoy leather, and out came the good head piece and target from the +dark nook, and the long lance from above the chimney. Show me a day that +either he or I was absent when the provost made his musters! Thus we +have led our lives, my girl, working to win our bread, and fighting to +defend it. I will have no son in law that thinks himself better than me; +and for these lords and knights, I trust thou wilt always remember thou +art too low to be their lawful love, and too high to be their unlawful +loon. And now lay by thy work, lass, for it is holytide eve, and it +becomes us to go to the evening service, and pray that Heaven may send +thee a good Valentine tomorrow.” + +So the Fair Maid of Perth laid aside the splendid hawking glove which +she was embroidering for the Lady Drummond, and putting on her holyday +kirtle, prepared to attend her father to the Blackfriars monastery, +which was adjacent to Couvrefew Street in which they lived. On their +passage, Simon Glover, an ancient and esteemed burgess of Perth, +somewhat stricken in years and increased in substance, received from +young and old the homage due to his velvet jerkin and his golden chain, +while the well known beauty of Catharine, though concealed beneath her +screen--which resembled the mantilla still worn in Flanders--called both +obeisances and doffings of the bonnet from young and old. + +As the pair moved on arm in arm, they were followed by a tall handsome +young man, dressed in a yeoman’s habit of the plainest kind, but which +showed to advantage his fine limbs, as the handsome countenance that +looked out from a quantity of curled tresses, surmounted by a small +scarlet bonnet, became that species of headdress. He had no other weapon +than a staff in his hand, it not being thought fit that persons of his +degree (for he was an apprentice to the old glover) should appear on +the street armed with sword or dagger, a privilege which the jackmen, or +military retainers of the nobility, esteemed exclusively their own. He +attended his master at holytide, partly in the character of a domestic, +or guardian, should there be cause for his interference; but it was +not difficult to discern, by the earnest attention which he paid to +Catharine Glover, that it was to her, rather than to her father, that he +desired to dedicate his good offices. + +Generally speaking, there was no opportunity for his zeal displaying +itself; for a common feeling of respect induced passengers to give way +to the father and daughter. + +But when the steel caps, barrets, and plumes of squires, archers, and +men at arms began to be seen among the throng, the wearers of these +warlike distinctions were more rude in their demeanour than the +quiet citizens. More than once, when from chance, or perhaps from an +assumption of superior importance, such an individual took the wall of +Simon in passing, the glover’s youthful attendant bristled up with a +look of defiance, and the air of one who sought to distinguish his zeal +in his mistress’s service by its ardour. As frequently did Conachar, for +such was the lad’s name, receive a check from his master, who gave him +to understand that he did not wish his interference before he required +it. + +“Foolish boy,” he said, “hast thou not lived long enough in my shop to +know that a blow will breed a brawl; that a dirk will cut the skin as +fast as a needle pierces leather; that I love peace, though I never +feared war, and care not which side of the causeway my daughter and I +walk upon so we may keep our road in peace and quietness?” + +Conachar excused himself as zealous for his master’s honour, yet was +scarce able to pacify the old citizen. + +“What have we to do with honour?” said Simon Glover. “If thou wouldst +remain in my service, thou must think of honesty, and leave honour to +the swaggering fools who wear steel at their heels and iron on their +shoulders. If you wish to wear and use such garniture, you are welcome, +but it shall not be in my house or in my company.” + +Conachar seemed rather to kindle at this rebuke than to submit to it. +But a sign from Catharine, if that slight raising of her little finger +was indeed a sign, had more effect than the angry reproof of his master; +and the youth laid aside the military air which seemed natural to him, +and relapsed into the humble follower of a quiet burgher. + +Meantime the little party were overtaken by a tall young man wrapped in +a cloak, which obscured or muffled a part of his face--a practice often +used by the gallants of the time, when they did not wish to be known, or +were abroad in quest of adventures. He seemed, in short, one who might +say to the world around him: “I desire, for the present, not to be known +or addressed in my own character; but, as I am answerable to myself +alone for my actions, I wear my incognito but for form’s sake, and care +little whether you see through it or not.” + +He came on the right side of Catharine, who had hold of her father’s +arm, and slackened his pace as if joining their party. + +“Good even to you, goodman.” + +“The same to your worship, and thanks. May I pray you to pass on? Our +pace is too slow for that of your lordship, our company too mean for +that of your father’s son.” + +“My father’s son can best judge of that, old man. I have business to +talk of with you and with my fair St. Catharine here, the loveliest and +most obdurate saint in the calendar.” + +“With deep reverence, my lord,” said the old man, “I would remind you +that this is good St. Valentine’s Eve, which is no time for business, +and that I can have your worshipful commands by a serving man as early +as it pleases you to send them.” + +“There is no time like the present,” said the persevering youth, whose +rank seemed to be a kind which set him above ceremony. “I wish to know +whether the buff doublet be finished which I commissioned some time +since; and from you, pretty Catharine (here he sank his voice to a +whisper), I desire to be informed whether your fair fingers have been +employed upon it, agreeably to your promise? But I need not ask you, +for my poor heart has felt the pang of each puncture that pierced the +garment which was to cover it. Traitress, how wilt thou answer for thus +tormenting the heart that loves thee so dearly?” + +“Let me entreat you, my lord,” said Catharine, “to forego this wild +talk: it becomes not you to speak thus, or me to listen. We are of poor +rank but honest manners; and the presence of the father ought to protect +the child from such expressions, even from your lordship.” + +This she spoke so low, that neither her father nor Conachar could +understand what she said. + +“Well, tyrant,” answered the persevering gallant, “I will plague you no +longer now, providing you will let me see you from your window tomorrow, +when the sun first peeps over the eastern hills, and give me right to be +your Valentine for the year.” + +“Not so, my lord; my father but now told me that hawks, far less eagles, +pair not with the humble linnet. Seek some court lady, to whom your +favours will be honour; to me--your Highness must permit me to speak the +plain truth--they can be nothing but disgrace.” + +As they spoke thus, the party arrived at the gate of the church. + +“Your lordship will, I trust, permit us here to take leave of you?” said +her father. “I am well aware how little you will alter your pleasure for +the pain and uneasiness you may give to such as us but, from the throng +of attendants at the gate, your lordship may see that there are others +in the church to whom even your gracious lordship must pay respect.” + +“Yes--respect; and who pays any respect to me?” said the haughty young +lord. “A miserable artisan and his daughter, too much honoured by +my slightest notice, have the insolence to tell me that my notice +dishonours them. Well, my princess of white doe skin and blue silk, I +will teach you to rue this.” + +As he murmured thus, the glover and his daughter entered the Dominican +church, and their attendant, Conachar, in attempting to follow them +closely, jostled, it may be not unwillingly, the young nobleman. The +gallant, starting from his unpleasing reverie, and perhaps considering +this as an intentional insult, seized on the young man by the breast, +struck him, and threw him from him. His irritated opponent recovered +himself with difficulty, and grasped towards his own side, as if seeking +a sword or dagger in the place where it was usually worn; but finding +none, he made a gesture of disappointed rage, and entered the church. +During the few seconds he remained, the young nobleman stood with his +arms folded on his breast, with a haughty smile, as if defying him to do +his worst. When Conachar had entered the church, his opponent, adjusting +his cloak yet closer about his face, made a private signal by holding +up one of his gloves. He was instantly joined by two men, who, disguised +like himself, had waited his motions at a little distance. They spoke +together earnestly, after which the young nobleman retired in one +direction, his friends or followers going off in another. + +Simon Glover, before he entered the church, cast a look towards the +group, but had taken his place among the congregation before they +separated themselves. He knelt down with the air of a man who has +something burdensome on his mind; but when the service was ended, +he seemed free from anxiety, as one who had referred himself and his +troubles to the disposal of Heaven. The ceremony of High Mass was +performed with considerable solemnity, a number of noblemen and ladies +of rank being present. Preparations had indeed been made for the +reception of the good old King himself, but some of those infirmities to +which he was subject had prevented Robert III from attending the service +as was his wont. When the congregation were dismissed, the glover and +his beautiful daughter lingered for some time, for the purpose of making +their several shrifts in the confessionals, where the priests had taken +their places for discharging that part of their duty. Thus it happened +that the night had fallen dark, and the way was solitary, when they +returned along the now deserted streets to their own dwelling. + +Most persons had betaken themselves to home and to bed. They who still +lingered in the street were night walkers or revellers, the idle and +swaggering retainers of the haughty nobles, who were much wont to insult +the peaceful passengers, relying on the impunity which their masters’ +court favour was too apt to secure them. + +It was, perhaps, in apprehension of mischief from some character of +this kind that Conachar, stepping up to the glover, said, “Master, walk +faster--we are dogg’d.” + +“Dogg’d, sayest thou? By whom and by how many?” + +“By one man muffled in his cloak, who follows us like our shadow.” + +“Then will it never mend my pace along the Couvrefew Street for the best +one man that ever trode it.” + +“But he has arms,” said Conachar. + +“And so have we, and hands, and legs, and feet. Why, sure, Conachar, you +are not afraid of one man?” + +“Afraid!” answered Conachar, indignant at the insinuation; “you shall +soon know if I am afraid.” + +“Now you are as far on the other side of the mark, thou foolish boy: +thy temper has no middle course; there is no occasion to make a brawl, +though we do not run. Walk thou before with Catharine, and I will take +thy place. We cannot be exposed to danger so near home as we are.” + +The glover fell behind accordingly, and certainly observed a person +keep so close to them as, the time and place considered, justified some +suspicion. When they crossed the street, he also crossed it, and when +they advanced or slackened their pace, the stranger’s was in proportion +accelerated or diminished. The matter would have been of very little +consequence had Simon Glover been alone; but the beauty of his daughter +might render her the object of some profligate scheme, in a country +where the laws afforded such slight protection to those who had not the +means to defend themselves. + +Conachar and his fair charge having arrived on the threshold of their +own apartment, which was opened to them by an old female servant, the +burgher’s uneasiness was ended. Determined, however, to ascertain, if +possible, whether there had been any cause for it, he called out to the +man whose motions had occasioned the alarm, and who stood still, though +he seemed to keep out of reach of the light. “Come, step forward, my +friend, and do not play at bo peep; knowest thou not, that they who +walk like phantoms in the dark are apt to encounter the conjuration of a +quarterstaff? Step forward, I say, and show us thy shapes, man.” + +“Why, so I can, Master Glover,” said one of the deepest voices that ever +answered question. “I can show my shapes well enough, only I wish they +could bear the light something better.” + +“Body of me,” exclaimed Simon, “I should know that voice! And is it +thou, in thy bodily person, Harry Gow? Nay, beshrew me if thou passest +this door with dry lips. What, man, curfew has not rung yet, and if it +had, it were no reason why it should part father and son. Come in, man; +Dorothy shall get us something to eat, and we will jingle a can ere thou +leave us. Come in, I say; my daughter Kate will be right glad to see +thee.” + +By this time he had pulled the person, whom he welcomed so cordially, +into a sort of kitchen, which served also upon ordinary occasions the +office of parlour. Its ornaments were trenchers of pewter, mixed with a +silver cup or two, which, in the highest degree of cleanliness, occupied +a range of shelves like those of a beauffet, popularly called “the +bink.” A good fire, with the assistance of a blazing lamp, spread light +and cheerfulness through the apartment, and a savoury smell of some +victuals which Dorothy was preparing did not at all offend the unrefined +noses of those whose appetite they were destined to satisfy. + +Their unknown attendant now stood in full light among them, and though +his appearance was neither dignified nor handsome, his face and figure +were not only deserving of attention, but seemed in some manner to +command it. He was rather below the middle stature, but the breadth +of his shoulders, length and brawniness of his arms, and the muscular +appearance of the whole man, argued a most unusual share of strength, +and a frame kept in vigour by constant exercise. His legs were somewhat +bent, but not in a manner which could be said to approach to deformity, +on the contrary, which seemed to correspond to the strength of his +frame, though it injured in some degree its symmetry. + +His dress was of buff hide; and he wore in a belt around his waist a +heavy broadsword, and a dirk or poniard, as if to defend his purse, +which (burgher fashion) was attached to the same cincture. The head was +well proportioned, round, close cropped, and curled thickly with black +hair. There was daring and resolution in the dark eye, but the other +features seemed to express a bashful timidity, mingled with good humor, +and obvious satisfaction at meeting with his old friends. + +Abstracted from the bashful expression, which was that of the moment, +the forehead of Henry Gow, or Smith, for he was indifferently so called, +was high and noble, but the lower part of the face was less happily +formed. The mouth was large, and well furnished with a set of firm and +beautiful teeth, the appearance of which corresponded with the air of +personal health and muscular strength which the whole frame indicated. +A short thick beard, and mustachios which had lately been arranged with +some care, completed the picture. His age could not exceed eight and +twenty. + +The family appeared all well pleased with the unexpected appearance of +an old friend. Simon Glover shook his hand again and again, Dorothy made +her compliments, and Catharine herself offered freely her hand, which +Henry held in his massive grasp, as if he designed to carry it to his +lips, but, after a moment’s hesitation, desisted, from fear lest the +freedom might be ill taken. Not that there was any resistance on the +part of the little hand which lay passive in his grasp; but there was a +smile mingled with the blush on her cheek, which seemed to increase the +confusion of the gallant. + +Her father, on his part, called out frankly, as he saw his friend’s +hesitation: “Her lips, man--her lips! and that’s a proffer I would not +make to every one who crosses my threshold. But, by good St. Valentine, +whose holyday will dawn tomorrow, I am so glad to see thee in the bonny +city of Perth again that it would be hard to tell the thing I could +refuse thee.” + +The smith, for, as has been said, such was the craft of this sturdy +artisan, was encouraged modestly to salute the Fair Maid, who yielded +the courtesy with a smile of affection that might have become a sister, +saying, at the same time: “Let me hope that I welcome back to Perth a +repentant and amended man.” + +He held her hand as if about to answer, then suddenly, as one who lost +courage at the moment, relinquished his grasp; and drawing back as +if afraid of what he had done, his dark countenance glowing with +bashfulness, mixed with delight, he sat down by the fire on the opposite +side from that which Catharine occupied. + +“Come, Dorothy, speed thee with the food, old woman; and Conachar--where +is Conachar?” + +“He is gone to bed, sir, with a headache,” said Catharine, in a +hesitating voice. + +“Go, call him, Dorothy,” said the old glover; “I will not be used thus +by him: his Highland blood, forsooth, is too gentle to lay a trencher +or spread a napkin, and he expects to enter our ancient and honourable +craft without duly waiting and tending upon his master and teacher in +all matters of lawful obedience. Go, call him, I say; I will not be thus +neglected.” + +Dorothy was presently heard screaming upstairs, or more probably up a +ladder, to the cock loft, to which the recusant apprentice had made +an untimely retreat; a muttered answer was returned, and soon after +Conachar appeared in the eating apartment. There was a gloom of +deep sullenness on his haughty, though handsome, features, and as he +proceeded to spread the board, and arrange the trenchers, with salt, +spices, and other condiments--to discharge, in short, the duties of +a modern domestic, which the custom of the time imposed upon all +apprentices--he was obviously disgusted and indignant with the mean +office imposed upon him. + +The Fair Maid of Perth looked with some anxiety at him, as if +apprehensive that his evident sullenness might increase her father’s +displeasure; but it was not till her eyes had sought out his for a +second time that Conachar condescended to veil his dissatisfaction, +and throw a greater appearance of willingness and submission into the +services which he was performing. + +And here we must acquaint our reader that, though the private +interchange of looks betwixt Catharine Glover and the young mountaineer +indicated some interest on the part of the former in the conduct of the +latter, it would have puzzled the strictest observer to discover whether +that feeling exceeded in degree what might have been felt by a young +person towards a friend and inmate of the same age, with whom she had +lived on habits of intimacy. + +“Thou hast had a long journey, son Henry,” said Glover, who had always +used that affectionate style of speech, though no ways akin to the young +artisan; “ay, and hast seen many a river besides Tay, and many a fair +bigging besides St. Johnston.” + +“But none that I like half so well, and none that are half so much worth +my liking,” answered the smith. “I promise you, father, that, when +I crossed the Wicks of Baiglie, and saw the bonny city lie stretched +fairly before me like a fairy queen in romance, whom the knight finds +asleep among a wilderness of flowers, I felt even as a bird when it +folds its wearied wings to stoop down on its own nest.” + +“Aha! so thou canst play the maker [old Scottish for poet] yet?” said +the glover. “What, shall we have our ballets and our roundels again? our +lusty carols for Christmas, and our mirthful springs to trip it round +the maypole?” + +“Such toys there may be forthcoming, father,” said Henry Smith, “though +the blast of the bellows and the clatter of the anvil make but coarse +company to lays of minstrelsy; but I can afford them no better, since I +must mend my fortune, though I mar my verses.” + +“Right again--my own son just,” answered the glover; “and I trust thou +hast made a saving voyage of it?” + +“Nay, I made a thriving one, father: I sold the steel habergeon that you +wot of for four hundred marks to the English Warden of the East Marches, +Sir Magnus Redman. He scarce scrupled a penny after I gave him leave to +try a sword dint upon it. The beggardly Highland thief who bespoke it +boggled at half the sum, though it had cost me a year’s labour.” + +“What dost thou start at, Conachar?” said Simon, addressing himself, by +way of parenthesis, to the mountain disciple; “wilt thou never learn to +mind thy own business, without listening to what is passing round +thee? What is it to thee that an Englishman thinks that cheap which a +Scottishman may hold dear?” + +Conachar turned round to speak, but, after a moment’s consideration, +looked down, and endeavoured to recover his composure, which had been +deranged by the contemptuous manner in which the smith had spoken of his +Highland customer. + +Henry went on without paying any attention to him. “I sold at high +prices some swords and whingers when I was at Edinburgh. They expect war +there; and if it please God to send it, my merchandise will be worth its +price. St. Dunstan make us thankful, for he was of our craft. In short, +this fellow (laying his hand on his purse); who, thou knowest, father, +was somewhat lank and low in condition when I set out four months since, +is now as round and full as a six weeks’ porker.” + +“And that other leathern sheathed, iron hilted fellow who hangs beside +him,” said the glover, “has he been idle all this while? Come, jolly +smith, confess the truth--how many brawls hast thou had since crossing +the Tay?” + +“Nay, now you do me wrong, father, to ask me such a question (glancing +a look at Catharine) in such a presence,” answered the armourer: “I +make swords, indeed, but I leave it to other people to use them. No--no, +seldom have I a naked sword in my fist, save when I am turning them +on the anvil or grindstone; and they slandered me to your daughter +Catharine, that led her to suspect the quietest burgess in Perth of +being a brawler. I wish the best of them would dare say such a word at +the Hill of Kinnoul, and never a man on the green but he and I.” + +“Ay--ay,” said the glover, laughing, “we should then have a fine sample +of your patient sufferance. Out upon you, Henry, that you will speak so +like a knave to one who knows thee so well! You look at Kate, too, as if +she did not know that a man in this country must make his hand keep his +head, unless he will sleep in slender security. Come--come, beshrew me +if thou hast not spoiled as many suits of armour as thou hast made.” + +“Why, he would be a bad armourer, father Simon, that could not with +his own blow make proof of his own workmanship. If I did not sometimes +cleave a helmet, or strike a point through a harness, I should not know +what strength of fabric to give them; and might jingle together such +pasteboard work as yonder Edinburgh smiths think not shame to put out of +their hands.” + +“Aha, now would I lay a gold crown thou hast had a quarrel with some +Edinburgh ‘burn the wind’ upon that very ground?” + +[“Burn the wind,” an old cant term for blacksmith, appears in Burns: + +Then burnewin came on like death, At every chaup, etc.] + + +“A quarrel! no, father,” replied the Perth armourer, “but a measuring +of swords with such a one upon St. Leonard’s Crags, for the honour of +my bonny city, I confess. Surely you do not think I would quarrel with a +brother craftsman?” + +“Ah, to a surety, no. But how did your brother craftman come off?” + +“Why, as one with a sheet of paper on his bosom might come off from the +stroke of a lance; or rather, indeed, he came not off at all, for, when +I left him, he was lying in the Hermit’s Lodge daily expecting death, +for which Father Gervis said he was in heavenly preparation.” + +“Well, any more measuring of weapons?” said the glover. + +“Why, truly, I fought an Englishman at Berwick besides, on the old +question of the supremacy, as they call it--I am sure you would not have +me slack at that debate?--and I had the luck to hurt him on the left +knee.” + +“Well done for St. Andrew! to it again. Whom next had you to deal with?” + said Simon, laughing at the exploits of his pacific friend. + +“I fought a Scotchman in the Torwood,” answered Henry Smith, “upon a +doubt which was the better swordsman, which, you are aware, could not be +known or decided without a trial. The poor fellow lost two fingers.” + +“Pretty well for the most peaceful lad in Perth, who never touches a +sword but in the way of his profession. Well, anything more to tell us?” + +“Little; for the drubbing of a Highlandman is a thing not worth +mentioning.” + +“For what didst thou drub him, O man of peace?” inquired the glover. + +“For nothing that I can remember,” replied the smith, “except his +presenting himself on the south side of Stirling Bridge.” + +“Well, here is to thee, and thou art welcome to me after all these +exploits. Conachar, bestir thee. Let the cans clink, lad, and thou shalt +have a cup of the nut brown for thyself, my boy.” + +Conachar poured out the good liquor for his master and for Catharine +with due observance. But that done, he set the flagon on the table and +sat down. + +“How now, sirrah! be these your manners? Fill to my guest, the +worshipful Master Henry Smith.” + +“Master Smith may fill for himself, if he wishes for liquor,” answered +the youthful Celt. “The son of my father has demeaned himself enough +already for one evening.” + +“That’s well crowed for a cockerel,” said Henry; “but thou art so far +right, my lad, that the man deserves to die of thirst who will not drink +without a cupbearer.” + +But his entertainer took not the contumacy of the young apprentice with +so much patience. “Now, by my honest word, and by the best glove I ever +made,” said Simon, “thou shalt help him with liquor from that cup and +flagon, if thee and I are to abide under one roof.” + +Conachar arose sullenly upon hearing this threat, and, approaching the +smith, who had just taken the tankard in his hand, and was raising it +to his head, he contrived to stumble against him and jostle him so +awkwardly, that the foaming ale gushed over his face, person, and dress. +Good natured as the smith, in spite of his warlike propensities, really +was in the utmost degree, his patience failed under such a provocation. +He seized the young man’s throat, being the part which came readiest to +his grasp, as Conachar arose from the pretended stumble, and pressing +it severely as he cast the lad from him, exclaimed: “Had this been in +another place, young gallows bird, I had stowed the lugs out of thy +head, as I have done to some of thy clan before thee.” + +Conachar recovered his feet with the activity of a tiger, and exclaimed: +“Never shall you live to make that boast again!” drew a short, sharp +knife from his bosom, and, springing on Henry Smith, attempted to plunge +it into his body over the collarbone, which must have been a mortal +wound. But the object of this violence was so ready to defend himself +by striking up the assailant’s hand, that the blow only glanced on the +bone, and scarce drew blood. To wrench the dagger from the boy’s hand, +and to secure him with a grasp like that of his own iron vice, was, for +the powerful smith, the work of a single moment. + +Conachar felt himself at once in the absolute power of the formidable +antagonist whom he had provoked; he became deadly pale, as he had been +the moment before glowing red, and stood mute with shame and fear, +until, relieving him from his powerful hold, the smith quietly said: “It +is well for thee that thou canst not make me angry; thou art but a boy, +and I, a grown man, ought not to have provoked thee. But let this be a +warning.” + +Conachar stood an instant as if about to reply, and then left the room, +ere Simon had collected himself enough to speak. Dorothy was running +hither and thither for salves and healing herbs. Catharine had swooned +at the sight of the trickling blood. + +“Let me depart, father Simon,” said Henry Smith, mournfully, “I might +have guessed I should have my old luck, and spread strife and bloodshed +where I would wish most to bring peace and happiness. Care not for me. +Look to poor Catharine; the fright of such an affray hath killed her, +and all through my fault.” + +“Thy fault, my son! It was the fault of yon Highland cateran, whom it +is my curse to be cumbered with; but he shall go back to his glens +tomorrow, or taste the tolbooth of the burgh. An assault upon the life +of his master’s guest in his house! It breaks all bonds between us. But +let me see to thy wound.” + +“Catharine!” repeated the armourer--“look to Catharine.” + +“Dorothy will see to her,” said Simon; “surprise and fear kill not; +skenes and dirks do. And she is not more the daughter of my blood than +thou, my dear Henry, art the son of my affections. Let me see the wound. +The skene occle is an ugly weapon in a Highland hand.” + +“I mind it no more than the scratch of a wildcat,” said the armourer; +“and now that the colour is coming to Catharine’s cheek again, you shall +see me a sound man in a moment.” + +He turned to a corner in which hung a small mirror, and hastily took +from his purse some dry lint to apply to the slight wound he had +received. As he unloosed the leathern jacket from his neck and +shoulders, the manly and muscular form which they displayed was not more +remarkable than the fairness of his skin, where it had not, as in +hands and face, been exposed to the effects of rough weather and of his +laborious trade. He hastily applied some lint to stop the bleeding; and +a little water having removed all other marks of the fray, he buttoned +his doublet anew, and turned again to the table, where Catharine, still +pale and trembling, was, however, recovered from her fainting fit. + +“Would you but grant me your forgiveness for having offended you in the +very first hour of my return? The lad was foolish to provoke me, and yet +I was more foolish to be provoked by such as he. Your father blames me +not, Catharine, and cannot you forgive me?” + +“I have no power to forgive,” answered Catharine, “what I have no title +to resent. If my father chooses to have his house made the scene of +night brawls, I must witness them--I cannot help myself. Perhaps it was +wrong in me to faint and interrupt, it may be, the farther progress of a +fair fray. My apology is, that I cannot bear the sight of blood.” + +“And is this the manner,” said her father, “in which you receive my +friend after his long absence? My friend, did I say? Nay, my son. He +escapes being murdered by a fellow whom I will tomorrow clear this house +of, and you treat him as if he had done wrong in dashing from him the +snake which was about to sting him!” + +“It is not my part, father,” returned the Maid of Perth, “to decide who +had the right or wrong in the present brawl, nor did I see what happened +distinctly enough to say which was assailant, or which defender. But +sure our friend, Master Henry, will not deny that he lives in a perfect +atmosphere of strife, blood, and quarrels. He hears of no swordsman but +he envies his reputation, and must needs put his valour to the proof. He +sees no brawl but he must strike into the midst of it. Has he friends, +he fights with them for love and honour; has he enemies, he fights with +them for hatred and revenge. And those men who are neither his friends +nor foes, he fights with them because they are on this or that side of +a river. His days are days of battle, and, doubtless, he acts them over +again in his dreams.” + +“Daughter,” said Simon, “your tongue wags too freely. Quarrels and +fights are men’s business, not women’s, and it is not maidenly to think +or speak of them.” + +“But if they are so rudely enacted in our presence,” said Catharine, “it +is a little hard to expect us to think or speak of anything else. I will +grant you, my father, that this valiant burgess of Perth is one of the +best hearted men that draws breath within its walls: that he would walk +a hundred yards out of the way rather than step upon a worm; that +he would be as loth, in wantonness, to kill a spider as if he were a +kinsman to King Robert, of happy memory; that in the last quarrel before +his departure he fought with four butchers, to prevent their killing a +poor mastiff that had misbehaved in the bull ring, and narrowly escaped +the fate of the cur that he was protecting. I will grant you also, +that the poor never pass the house of the wealthy armourer but they are +relieved with food and alms. But what avails all this, when his +sword makes as many starving orphans and mourning widows as his purse +relieves?” + +“Nay, but, Catharine, hear me but a word before going on with a string +of reproaches against my friend, that sound something like sense, while +they are, in truth, inconsistent with all we hear and see around us. +What,” continued the glover, “do our King and our court, our knights and +ladies, our abbots, monks, and priests themselves, so earnestly crowd to +see? Is it not to behold the display of chivalry, to witness the gallant +actions of brave knights in the tilt and tourney ground, to look upon +deeds of honour and glory achieved by arms and bloodshed? What is it +these proud knights do, that differs from what our good Henry Gow works +out in his sphere? Who ever heard of his abusing his skill and strength +to do evil or forward oppression, and who knows not how often it has +been employed as that of a champion in the good cause of the burgh? And +shouldst not thou, of all women, deem thyself honoured and glorious, +that so true a heart and so strong an arm has termed himself thy +bachelor? In what do the proudest dames take their loftiest pride, save +in the chivalry of their knight; and has the boldest in Scotland done +more gallant deeds than my brave son Henry, though but of low degree? Is +he not known to Highland and Lowland as the best armourer that ever made +sword, and the truest soldier that ever drew one?” + +“My dearest father,” answered Catharine, “your words contradict +themselves, if you will permit your child to say so. Let us thank God +and the good saints that we are in a peaceful rank of life, below the +notice of those whose high birth, and yet higher pride, lead them to +glory in their bloody works of cruelty, which haughty and lordly men +term deeds of chivalry. Your wisdom will allow that it would be absurd +in us to prank ourselves in their dainty plumes and splendid garments; +why, then, should we imitate their full blown vices? Why should we +assume their hard hearted pride and relentless cruelty, to which murder +is not only a sport, but a subject of vainglorious triumph? Let those +whose rank claims as its right such bloody homage take pride and +pleasure in it; we, who have no share in the sacrifice, may the better +pity the sufferings of the victim. Let us thank our lowliness, since it +secures us from temptation. But forgive me, father, if I have stepped +over the limits of my duty, in contradicting the views which you +entertain, with so many others, on these subjects.” + +“Nay, thou hast even too much talk for me, girl,” said her father, +somewhat angrily. “I am but a poor workman, whose best knowledge is to +distinguish the left hand glove from the right. But if thou wouldst +have my forgiveness, say something of comfort to my poor Henry. There he +sits, confounded and dismayed with all the preachment thou hast heaped +together; and he, to whom a trumpet sound was like the invitation to a +feast, is struck down at the sound of a child’s whistle.” + +The armourer, indeed, while he heard the lips that were dearest to him +paint his character in such unfavourable colours, had laid his head +down on the table, upon his folded arms, in an attitude of the deepest +dejection, or almost despair. + +“I would to Heaven, my dearest father,” answered Catharine, “that it +were in my power to speak comfort to Henry, without betraying the sacred +cause of the truths I have just told you. And I may--nay, I must have +such a commission,” she continued with something that the earnestness +with which she spoke and the extreme beauty of her features caused for +the moment to resemble inspiration. + +“The truth of Heaven,” she said, in a solemn tone, “was never committed +to a tongue, however feeble, but it gave a right to that tongue to +announce mercy, while it declared judgment. Arise, Henry--rise up, noble +minded, good, and generous, though widely mistaken man. Thy faults are +those of this cruel and remorseless age, thy virtues all thine own.” + +While she thus spoke, she laid her hand upon the smith’s arm, and +extricating it from under his head by a force which, however gentle, he +could not resist, she compelled him to raise towards her his manly face, +and the eyes into which her expostulations, mingled with other feelings, +had summoned tears. + +“Weep not,” she said, “or rather, weep on, but weep as those who have +hope. Abjure the sins of pride and anger, which most easily beset thee; +fling from thee the accursed weapons, to the fatal and murderous use of +which thou art so easily tempted.” + +“You speak to me in vain, Catharine,” returned the armourer: “I may, +indeed, turn monk and retire from the world, but while I live in it I +must practise my trade; and while I form armour and weapons for others, +I cannot myself withstand the temptation of using them. You would not +reproach me as you do, if you knew how inseparably the means by which I +gain my bread are connected with that warlike spirit which you impute +to me as a fault, though it is the consequence of inevitable necessity. +While I strengthen the shield or corselet to withstand wounds, must I +not have constantly in remembrance the manner and strength with which +they may be dealt; and when I forge the sword, and temper it for war, is +it practicable for me to avoid the recollection of its use?” + +“Then throw from you, my dear Henry,” said the enthusiastic girl, +clasping with both her slender hands the nervous strength and weight +of one of the muscular armourer’s, which they raised with difficulty, +permitted by its owner, yet scarcely receiving assistance from his +volition--“cast from you, I say, the art which is a snare to you. Abjure +the fabrication of weapons which can only be useful to abridge human +life, already too short for repentance, or to encourage with a +feeling of safety those whom fear might otherwise prevent from risking +themselves in peril. The art of forming arms, whether offensive or +defensive, is alike sinful in one to whose violent and ever vehement +disposition the very working upon them proves a sin and a snare. Resign +utterly the manufacture of weapons of every description, and deserve the +forgiveness of Heaven, by renouncing all that can lead to the sin which +most easily besets you.” + +“And what,” murmured the armourer, “am I to do for my livelihood, when +I have given over the art of forging arms for which Henry of Perth is +known from the Tay to the Thames?” + +“Your art itself,” said Catharine, “has innocent and laudable resources. +If you renounce the forging of swords and bucklers, there remains to you +the task of forming the harmless spade, and the honourable as well as +useful ploughshare--of those implements which contribute to the support +of life, or to its comforts. Thou canst frame locks and bars to defend +the property of the weak against the stouthrief and oppression of the +strong. Men will still resort to thee, and repay thy honest industry--” + +But here Catharine was interrupted. Her father had heard her declaim +against war and tournaments with a feeling that, though her doctrine +were new to him, they might not, nevertheless, be entirely erroneous. +He felt, indeed, a wish that his proposed son in law should not commit +himself voluntarily to the hazards which the daring character and great +personal strength of Henry the Smith had hitherto led him to incur +too readily; and so far he would rather have desired that Catharine’s +arguments should have produced some effect upon the mind of her lover, +whom he knew to be as ductile when influenced by his affections as he +was fierce and intractable when assailed by hostile remonstrances or +threats. But her arguments interfered with his views, when he heard her +enlarge upon the necessity of his designed son in law resigning a trade +which brought in more ready income than any at that time practised in +Scotland, and more profit to Henry of Perth in particular than to any +armourer in the nation. He had some indistinct idea that it would not be +amiss to convert, if possible, Henry the Smith from his too frequent use +of arms, even though he felt some pride in being connected with one +who wielded with such superior excellence those weapons, which in that +warlike age it was the boast of all men to manage with spirit. But when +he heard his daughter recommend, as the readiest road to this pacific +state of mind, that her lover should renounce the gainful trade in which +he was held unrivalled, and which, from the constant private differences +and public wars of the time, was sure to afford him a large income, he +could withhold his wrath no longer. The daughter had scarce recommended +to her lover the fabrication of the implements of husbandry, than, +feeling the certainty of being right, of which in the earlier part of +their debate he had been somewhat doubtful, the father broke in with: + +“Locks and bars, plough graith and harrow teeth! and why not grates and +fire prongs, and Culross girdles, and an ass to carry the merchandise +through the country, and thou for another ass to lead it by the halter? +Why, Catharine, girl, has sense altogether forsaken thee, or dost thou +think that in these hard and iron days men will give ready silver for +anything save that which can defend their own life, or enable them to +take that of their enemy? We want swords to protect ourselves every +moment now, thou silly wench, and not ploughs to dress the ground for +the grain we may never see rise. As for the matter of our daily bread, +those who are strong seize it, and live; those who are weak yield it, +and die of hunger. Happy is the man who, like my worthy son, has means +of obtaining his living otherwise than by the point of the sword which +he makes. Preach peace to him as much as thou wilt, I will never be he +will say thee nay; but as for bidding the first armourer in Scotland +forego the forging of swords, curtal axes, and harness, it is enough to +drive patience itself mad. Out from my sight! and next morning I prithee +remember that, shouldst thou have the luck to see Henry the Smith, which +is more than thy usage of him has deserved, you see a man who has not +his match in Scotland at the use of broadsword and battle axe, and who +can work for five hundred marks a year without breaking a holyday.” + +The daughter, on hearing her father speak thus peremptorily, made a low +obeisance, and, without further goodnight, withdrew to the chamber which +was her usual sleeping apartment. + + + +CHAPTER III. + + Whence cometh Smith, be he knight, lord, or squire, + But from the smith that forged in the fire? + + VERSTEGAN. + + +The armourer’s heart swelled big with various and contending sensations, +so that it seemed as if it would burst the leathern doublet under which +it was shrouded. He arose, turned away his head, and extended his hand +towards the glover, while he averted his face, as if desirous that his +emotion should not be read upon his countenance. + +“Nay, hang me if I bid you farewell, man,” said Simon, striking the flat +of his hand against that which the armourer expanded towards him. “I +will shake no hands with you for an hour to come at least. Tarry but +a moment, man, and I will explain all this; and surely a few drops of +blood from a scratch, and a few silly words from a foolish wench’s +lips, are not to part father and son when they have been so long without +meeting? Stay, then, man, if ever you would wish for a father’s blessing +and St. Valentine’s, whose blessed eve this chances to be.” + +The glover was soon heard loudly summoning Dorothy, and, after some +clanking of keys and trampling up and down stairs, Dorothy appeared +bearing three large rummer cups of green glass, which were then esteemed +a great and precious curiosity, and the glover followed with a huge +bottle, equal at least to three quarts of these degenerate days. + +“Here is a cup of wine, Henry, older by half than I am myself; my +father had it in a gift from stout old Crabbe, the Flemish engineer, +who defended Perth so stoutly in the minority of David the Second. We +glovers could always do something in war, though our connexion with +it was less than yours who work in steel and iron. And my father had +pleased old Crabbe, some other day I will tell you how, and also how +long these bottles were concealed under ground, to save them from the +reiving Southron. So I will empty a cup to the soul’s health of my +honoured father--May his sins be forgiven him! Dorothy, thou shalt drink +this pledge, and then be gone to thy cock loft. I know thine ears are +itching, girl, but I have that to say which no one must hear save Henry +Smith, the son of mine adoption.” + +Dorothy did not venture to remonstrate, but, taking off her glass, or +rather her goblet, with good courage, retired to her sleeping apartment, +according to her master’s commands. + +The two friends were left alone. + +“It grieves me, friend Henry,” said Simon, filling at the same time his +own glass and his guest’s--“it grieves me from my soul that my daughter +retains this silly humor; but also methinks, thou mightst mend it. Why +wouldst thou come hither clattering with thy sword and dagger, when the +girl is so silly that she cannot bear the sight of these? Dost thou not +remember that thou hadst a sort of quarrel with her even before thy +last departure from Perth, because thou wouldst not go like other honest +quiet burghers, but must be ever armed, like one of the rascally jackmen +that wait on the nobility? Sure it is time enough for decent burgesses +to arm at the tolling of the common bell, which calls us out bodin in +effeir of war.” + +“Why, my good father, that was not my fault; but I had no sooner quitted +my nag than I run hither to tell you of my return, thinking, if it +were your will to permit me, that I would get your advice about being +Mistress Catharine’s Valentine for the year; and then I heard from +Mrs. Dorothy that you were gone to hear mass at the Black Friars. So I +thought I would follow thither, partly to hear the same mass with you, +and partly--Our Lady and St. Valentine forgive me!--to look upon one who +thinks little enough of me. And, as you entered the church, methought +I saw two or three dangerous looking men holding counsel together, and +gazing at you and at her, and in especial Sir John Ramorny, whom I knew +well enough, for all his disguise, and the velvet patch over his eye, +and his cloak so like a serving man’s; so methought, father Simon, that, +as you were old, and yonder slip of a Highlander something too young to +do battle, I would even walk quietly after you, not doubting, with the +tools I had about me, to bring any one to reason that might disturb you +in your way home. You know that yourself discovered me, and drew me into +the house, whether I would or no; otherwise, I promise you, I would not +have seen your daughter till I had donn’d the new jerkin which was made +at Berwick after the latest cut; nor would I have appeared before her +with these weapons, which she dislikes so much. Although, to say truth, +so many are at deadly feud with me for one unhappy chance or another, +that it is as needful for me as for any man in Scotland to go by night +with weapons about me.” + +“The silly wench never thinks of that,” said Simon Glover: “she never +has sense to consider, that in our dear native land of Scotland every +man deems it his privilege and duty to avenge his own wrong. But, Harry, +my boy, thou art to blame for taking her talk so much to heart. I have +seen thee bold enough with other wenches, wherefore so still and tongue +tied with her?” + +“Because she is something different from other maidens, father +Glover--because she is not only more beautiful, but wiser, higher, +holier, and seems to me as if she were made of better clay than we that +approach her. I can hold my head high enough with the rest of the lasses +round the maypole; but somehow, when I approach Catharine, I feel myself +an earthly, coarse, ferocious creature, scarce worthy to look on her, +much less to contradict the precepts which she expounds to me.” + +“You are an imprudent merchant, Harry Smith,” replied Simon, “and rate +too high the goods you wish to purchase. Catharine is a good girl, and +my daughter; but if you make her a conceited ape by your bashfulness and +your flattery, neither you nor I will see our wishes accomplished.” + +“I often fear it, my good father,” said the smith; “for I feel how +little I am deserving of Catharine.” + +“Feel a thread’s end!” said the glover; “feel for me, friend Smith--for +Catharine and me. Think how the poor thing is beset from morning to +night, and by what sort of persons, even though windows be down and +doors shut. We were accosted today by one too powerful to be named--ay, +and he showed his displeasure openly, because I would not permit him +to gallant my daughter in the church itself, when the priest was saying +mass. There are others scarce less reasonable. I sometimes wish that +Catharine were some degrees less fair, that she might not catch that +dangerous sort of admiration, or somewhat less holy, that she might sit +down like an honest woman, contented with stout Henry Smith, who +could protect his wife against every sprig of chivalry in the court of +Scotland.” + +“And if I did not,” said Henry, thrusting out a hand and arm which might +have belonged to a giant for bone and muscle, “I would I may never bring +hammer upon anvil again! Ay, an it were come but that length, my fair +Catharine should see that there is no harm in a man having the trick of +defence. But I believe she thinks the whole world is one great minster +church, and that all who live in it should behave as if they were at an +eternal mass.” + +“Nay, in truth,” said the father, “she has strange influence over those +who approach her; the Highland lad, Conachar, with whom I have been +troubled for these two or three years, although you may see he has the +natural spirit of his people, obeys the least sign which Catharine makes +him, and, indeed, will hardly be ruled by any one else in the house. She +takes much pains with him to bring him from his rude Highland habits.” + +Here Harry Smith became uneasy in his chair, lifted the flagon, set it +down, and at length exclaimed: “The devil take the young Highland whelp +and his whole kindred! What has Catharine to do to instruct such a +fellow as he? He will be just like the wolf cub that I was fool enough +to train to the offices of a dog, and every one thought him reclaimed, +till, in an ill hour, I went to walk on the hill of Moncrieff, when he +broke loose on the laird’s flock, and made a havoc that I might well +have rued, had the laird not wanted a harness at the time. And I marvel +that you, being a sensible man, father Glover, will keep this Highland +young fellow--a likely one, I promise you--so nigh to Catharine, as +if there were no other than your daughter to serve him for a +schoolmistress.” + +“Fie, my son--fie; now you are jealous,” said Simon, “of a poor young +fellow who, to tell you the truth, resides here because he may not so +well live on the other side of the hill.” + +“Ay--ay, father Simon,” retorted the smith, who had all the narrow +minded feelings of the burghers of his time, “an it were not for fear +of offence, I would say that you have even too much packing and peiling +with yonder loons out of burgh.” + +“I must get my deer hides, buckskins, kidskins, and so forth somewhere, +my good Harry, and Highlandmen give good bargains.” + +“They can afford them,” replied Henry, drily, “for they sell nothing but +stolen gear.” + +“Well--well, be that as it may, it is not my business where they get +the bestial, so I get the hides. But as I was saying, there are certain +considerations why I am willing to oblige the father of this young man, +by keeping him here. And he is but half a Highlander neither, and wants +a thought of the dour spirit of a ‘glune amie’ after all, I have seldom +seen him so fierce as he showed himself but now.” + +“You could not, unless he had killed his man,” replied the smith, in the +same dry tone. + +“Nevertheless, if you wish it, Harry, I’ll set all other respects aside, +and send the landlouper to seek other quarters tomorrow morning.” + +“Nay, father,” said the smith, “you cannot suppose that Harry Gow cares +the value of a smithy dander for such a cub as yonder cat-a-mountain? +I care little, I promise you, though all his clan were coming down the +Shoegate with slogan crying and pipes playing: I would find fifty blades +and bucklers would send them back faster than they came. But, to speak +truth, though it is a fool’s speech too, I care not to see the fellow so +much with Catharine. Remember, father Glover, your trade keeps your eyes +and hands close employed, and must have your heedful care, even if this +lazy lurdane wrought at it, which you know yourself he seldom does.” + +“And that is true,” said Simon: “he cuts all his gloves out for the +right hand, and never could finish a pair in his life.” + +“No doubt, his notions of skin cutting are rather different,” said +Henry. “But with your leave, father, I would only say that, work he or +be he idle, he has no bleared eyes, no hands seared with the hot iron, +and welked by the use of the fore hammer, no hair rusted in the smoke, +and singed in the furnace, like the hide of a badger, rather than what +is fit to be covered with a Christian bonnet. Now, let Catharine be +as good a wench as ever lived, and I will uphold her to be the best in +Perth, yet she must see and know that these things make a difference +betwixt man and man, and that the difference is not in my favour.” + +“Here is to thee, with all my heart, son Harry,” said the old man, +filling a brimmer to his companion and another to himself; “I see that, +good smith as thou art, thou ken’st not the mettle that women are made +of. Thou must be bold, Henry; and bear thyself not as if thou wert going +to the gallows lee, but like a gay young fellow, who knows his own worth +and will not be slighted by the best grandchild Eve ever had. Catharine +is a woman like her mother, and thou thinkest foolishly to suppose they +are all set on what pleases the eye. Their ear must be pleased too, man: +they must know that he whom they favour is bold and buxom, and might +have the love of twenty, though he is suing for theirs. Believe an +old man, woman walk more by what others think than by what they think +themselves, and when she asks for the boldest man in Perth whom can +she hear named but Harry Burn-the-wind? The best armourer that ever +fashioned weapon on anvil? Why, Harry Smith again. The tightest dancer +at the maypole? Why, the lusty smith. The gayest troller of ballads? +Why, who but Harry Gow? The best wrestler, sword and buckler player, the +king of the weapon shawing, the breaker of mad horses, the tamer of +wild Highlandmen? Evermore it is thee--thee--no one but thee. And shall +Catharine prefer yonder slip of a Highland boy to thee? Pshaw! she +might as well make a steel gauntlet out of kid’s leather. I tell thee, +Conachar is nothing to her, but so far as she would fain prevent the +devil having his due of him, as of other Highlandmen. God bless her, +poor thing, she would bring all mankind to better thoughts if she +could.” + +“In which she will fail to a certainty,” said the smith, who, as the +reader may have noticed, had no goodwill to the Highland race. “I will +wager on Old Nick, of whom I should know something, he being indeed +a worker in the same element with myself, against Catharine on that +debate: the devil will have the tartan, that is sure enough.” + +“Ay, but Catharine,” replied the glover, “hath a second thou knowest +little of: Father Clement has taken the young reiver in hand, and he +fears a hundred devils as little as I do a flock of geese.” + +“Father Clement!” said the smith. “You are always making some new saint +in this godly city of St. Johnston. Pray, who, for a devil’s drubber, +may he be? One of your hermits that is trained for the work like +a wrestler for the ring, and brings himself to trim by fasting and +penance, is he not?” + +“No, that is the marvel of it,” said Simon: “Father Clement eats, +drinks, and lives much like other folks--all the rules of the church, +nevertheless, strictly observed.” + +“Oh, I comprehend!--a buxom priest that thinks more of good living than +of good life, tipples a can on Fastern’s Eve, to enable him to face +Lent, has a pleasant in principio, and confesses all the prettiest women +about the town?” + +“You are on the bow hand still, smith. I tell you, my daughter and I +could nose out either a fasting hypocrite or a full one. But Father +Clement is neither the one nor the other.” + +“But what is he then, in Heaven’s name?” + +“One who is either greatly better than half his brethren of St. Johnston +put together, or so much worse than the worst of them, that it is sin +and shame that he is suffered to abide in the country.” + +“Methinks it were easy to tell whether he be the one or the other,” said +the smith. + +“Content you, my friend,” said Simon, “with knowing that, if you judge +Father Clement by what you see him do and hear him say, you will think +of him as the best and kindest man in the world, with a comfort for +every man’s grief, a counsel for every man’s difficulty, the rich man’s +surest guide, and the poor man’s best friend. But if you listen to what +the Dominicans say of him, he is--Benedicite!--(here the glover crossed +himself on brow and bosom)--a foul heretic, who ought by means of +earthly flames to be sent to those which burn eternally.” + +The smith also crossed himself, and exclaimed: “St. Mary! father Simon, +and do you, who are so good and prudent that you have been called the +Wise Glover of Perth, let your daughter attend the ministry of one +who--the saints preserve us!--may be in league with the foul fiend +himself! Why, was it not a priest who raised the devil in the Meal +Vennel, when Hodge Jackson’s house was blown down in the great wind? +Did not the devil appear in the midst of the Tay, dressed in a priest’s +scapular, gambolling like a pellack amongst the waves, the morning when +our stately bridge was swept away?” + +“I cannot tell whether he did or no,” said the glover; “I only know I +saw him not. As to Catharine, she cannot be said to use Father Clement’s +ministry, seeing her confessor is old Father Francis the Dominican, from +whom she had her shrift today. But women will sometimes be wilful, and +sure enough she consults with Father Clement more than I could wish; and +yet when I have spoken with him myself, I have thought him so good and +holy a man that I could have trusted my own salvation with him. There +are bad reports of him among the Dominicans, that is certain. But what +have we laymen to do with such things, my son? Let us pay Mother Church +her dues, give our alms, confess and do our penances duly, and the +saints will bear us out.” + +“Ay, truly; and they will have consideration,” said the smith, “for any +rash and unhappy blow that a man may deal in a fight, when his party was +on defence, and standing up to him; and that’s the only creed a man can +live upon in Scotland, let your daughter think what she pleases. Marry, +a man must know his fence, or have a short lease of his life, in any +place where blows are going so rife. Five nobles to our altar have +cleared me for the best man I ever had misfortune with.” + +“Let us finish our flask, then,” said the old glover; “for I reckon the +Dominican tower is tolling midnight. And hark thee, son Henry; be at the +lattice window on our east gable by the very peep of dawn, and make +me aware thou art come by whistling the smith’s call gently. I will +contrive that Catharine shall look out at the window, and thus thou wilt +have all the privileges of being a gallant Valentine through the rest of +the year; which, if thou canst not use to thine own advantage, I shall +be led to think that, for all thou be’st covered with the lion’s hide, +nature has left on thee the long ears of the ass.” + +“Amen, father,” said the armourer, “a hearty goodnight to you; and God’s +blessing on your roof tree, and those whom it covers. You shall hear the +smith’s call sound by cock crowing; I warrant I put sir chanticleer to +shame.” + +So saying, he took his leave; and, though completely undaunted, moved +through the deserted streets like one upon his guard, to his own +dwelling, which was situated in the Mill Wynd, at the western end of +Perth. + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + What’s all this turmoil crammed into our parts? + Faith, but the pit-a-pat of poor young hearts. + + DRYDEN. + + +The sturdy armourer was not, it may be believed, slack in keeping the +appointment assigned by his intended father in law. He went through the +process of his toilet with more than ordinary care, throwing, as far as +he could, those points which had a military air into the shade. He was +far too noted a person to venture to go entirely unarmed in a town where +he had indeed many friends, but also, from the character of many of his +former exploits, several deadly enemies, at whose hands, should they +take him at advantage, he knew he had little mercy to expect. He +therefore wore under his jerkin a “secret,” or coat of chain mail, made +so light and flexible that it interfered as little with his movements +as a modern under waistcoat, yet of such proof as he might safely depend +upon, every ring of it having been wrought and joined by his own hands. +Above this he wore, like others of his age and degree, the Flemish +hose and doublet, which, in honour of the holy tide, were of the best +superfine English broadcloth, light blue in colour, slashed out with +black satin, and passamented (laced, that is) with embroidery of black +silk. His walking boots were of cordovan leather; his cloak of good +Scottish grey, which served to conceal a whinger, or couteau de chasse, +that hung at his belt, and was his only offensive weapon, for he carried +in his hand but a rod of holly. His black velvet bonnet was lined with +steel, quilted between the metal and his head, and thus constituted a +means of defence which might safely be trusted to. + +Upon the whole, Henry had the appearance, to which he was well entitled, +of a burgher of wealth and consideration, assuming, in his dress, as +much consequence as he could display without stepping beyond his own +rank, and encroaching on that of the gentry. Neither did his frank and +manly deportment, though indicating a total indifference to danger, bear +the least resemblance to that of the bravoes or swashbucklers of the +day, amongst whom Henry was sometimes unjustly ranked by those who +imputed the frays in which he was so often engaged to a quarrelsome and +violent temper, resting upon a consciousness of his personal strength +and knowledge of his weapon. On the contrary, every feature bore +the easy and good-humoured expression of one who neither thought of +inflicting mischief nor dreaded it from others. + +Having attired himself in his best, the honest armourer next placed +nearest to his heart (which throbbed at its touch) a little gift which +he had long provided for Catharine Glover, and which his quality of +Valentine would presently give him the title to present, and her to +receive, without regard to maidenly scruples. It was a small ruby +cut into the form of a heart, transfixed with a golden arrow, and was +inclosed in a small purse made of links of the finest work in steel, as +if it had been designed for a hauberk to a king. Round the verge of the +purse were these words: + +Loves darts Cleave hearts Through mail shirts. + +This device had cost the armourer some thought, and he was much +satisfied with his composition, because it seemed to imply that his +skill could defend all hearts saving his own. + +He wrapped himself in his cloak, and hastened through the still silent +streets, determined to appear at the window appointed a little before +dawn. + +With this purpose he passed up the High Street, and turned down the +opening where St. John’s Church now stands, in order to proceed to +Curfew Street; when it occurred to him, from the appearance of the sky, +that he was at least an hour too early for his purpose, and that it +would be better not to appear at the place of rendezvous till nearer the +time assigned. Other gallants were not unlikely to be on the watch as +well as himself about the house of the Fair Maid of Perth; and he +knew his own foible so well as to be sensible of the great chance of a +scuffle arising betwixt them. + +“I have the advantage,” he thought, “by my father Simon’s friendship; +and why should I stain my fingers with the blood of the poor creatures +that are not worthy my notice, since they are so much less fortunate +than myself? No--no, I will be wise for once, and keep at a distance +from all temptation to a broil. They shall have no more time to quarrel +with me than just what it may require for me to give the signal, and for +my father Simon to answer it. I wonder how the old man will contrive to +bring her to the window? I fear, if she knew his purpose, he would find +it difficult to carry it into execution.” + +While these lover-like thoughts were passing through his brain, the +armourer loitered in his pace, often turning his eyes eastward, and +eyeing the firmament, in which no slight shades of grey were beginning +to flicker, to announce the approach of dawn, however distant, which, to +the impatience of the stout armourer, seemed on that morning to abstain +longer than usual from occupying her eastern barbican. He was now +passing slowly under the wall of St. Anne’s Chapel (not failing to cross +himself and say an ace, as he trode the consecrated ground), when a +voice, which seemed to come from behind one of the flying buttresses of +the chapel, said, “He lingers that has need to run.” + +“Who speaks?” said the armourer, looking around him, somewhat startled +at an address so unexpected, both in its tone and tenor. + +“No matter who speaks,” answered the same voice. “Do thou make great +speed, or thou wilt scarce make good speed. Bandy not words, but +begone.” + +“Saint or sinner, angel or devil,” said Henry, crossing himself, “your +advice touches me but too dearly to be neglected. St. Valentine be my +speed!” + +So saying, he instantly changed his loitering pace to one with which few +people could have kept up, and in an instant was in Couvrefew Street. +He had not made three steps towards Simon Glover’s, which stood in the +midst of the narrow street, when two men started from under the houses +on different sides, and advanced, as it were by concert, to intercept +his passage. The imperfect light only permitted him to discern that they +wore the Highland mantle. + +“Clear the way, cateran,” said the armourer, in the deep stern voice +which corresponded with the breadth of his chest. + +They did not answer, at least intelligibly; but he could see that they +drew their swords, with the purpose of withstanding him by violence. +Conjecturing some evil, but of what kind he could not anticipate, Henry +instantly determined to make his way through whatever odds, and defend +his mistress, or at least die at her feet. He cast his cloak over his +left arm as a buckler, and advanced rapidly and steadily to the two men. +The nearest made a thrust at him, but Henry Smith, parrying the blow +with his cloak, dashed his arm in the man’s face, and tripping him at +the same time, gave him a severe fall on the causeway; while almost at +the same instant he struck a blow with his whinger at the fellow who was +upon his right hand, so severely applied, that he also lay prostrate +by his associate. Meanwhile, the armourer pushed forward in alarm, +for which the circumstance of the street being guarded or defended +by strangers who conducted themselves with such violence afforded +sufficient reason. He heard a suppressed whisper and a bustle under the +glover’s windows--those very windows from which he had expected to be +hailed by Catharine as her Valentine. He kept to the opposite side of +the street, that he might reconnoitre their number and purpose. But +one of the party who were beneath the window, observing or hearing +him, crossed the street also, and taking him doubtless for one of the +sentinels, asked, in a whisper, “What noise was yonder, Kenneth? why +gave you not the signal?” + +“Villain,” said Henry, “you are discovered, and you shall die the +death.” + +As he spoke thus, he dealt the stranger a blow with his weapon, which +would probably have made his words good, had not the man, raising his +arm, received on his hand the blow meant for his head. The wound must +have been a severe one, for he staggered and fell with a deep groan. + +Without noticing him farther, Henry Smith sprung forward upon a party of +men who seemed engaged in placing a ladder against the lattice window +in the gable. Henry did not stop ether to count their numbers or to +ascertain their purpose. But, crying the alarm word of the town, and +giving the signal at which the burghers were wont to collect, he rushed +on the night walkers, one of whom was in the act of ascending the +ladder. The smith seized it by the rounds, threw it down on the +pavement, and placing his foot on the body of the man who had been +mounting, prevented him from regaining his feet. His accomplices struck +fiercely at Henry, to extricate their companion. But his mail coat stood +him in good stead, and he repaid their blows with interest, shouting +aloud, “Help--help, for bonny St. Johnston! Bows and blades, brave +citizens! bows and blades! they break into our houses under cloud of +night.” + +These words, which resounded far through the streets, were accompanied +by as many fierce blows, dealt with good effect among those whom the +armourer assailed. In the mean time, the inhabitants of the district +began to awaken and appear on the street in their shirts, with +swords and targets, and some of them with torches. The assailants now +endeavoured to make their escape, which all of them effected excepting +the man who had been thrown down along with the ladder. Him the intrepid +armourer had caught by the throat in the scuffle, and held as fast as +the greyhound holds the hare. The other wounded men were borne off by +their comrades. + +“Here are a sort of knaves breaking peace within burgh,” said Henry +to the neighbours who began to assemble; “make after the rogues. They +cannot all get off, for I have maimed some of them: the blood will guide +you to them.” + +“Some Highland caterans,” said the citizens; “up and chase, neighbours!” + +“Ay, chase--chase! leave me to manage this fellow,” continued the +armourer. + +The assistants dispersed in different directions, their lights flashing +and their cries resounding through the whole adjacent district. + +In the mean time the armourer’s captive entreated for freedom, using +both promises and threats to obtain it. “As thou art a gentleman,” he +said, “let me go, and what is past shall be forgiven.” + +“I am no gentleman,” said Henry--“I am Hal of the Wynd, a burgess of +Perth; and I have done nothing to need forgiveness.” + +“Villain, then hast done thou knowest not what! But let me go, and I +will fill thy bonnet with gold pieces.” + +“I shall fill thy bonnet with a cloven head presently,” said the +armourer, “unless thou stand still as a true prisoner.” + +“What is the matter, my son Harry?” said Simon, who now appeared at the +window. “I hear thy voice in another tone than I expected. What is all +this noise; and why are the neighbours gathering to the affray?” + +“There have been a proper set of limmers about to scale your windows, +father Simon; but I am like to prove godfather to one of them, whom I +hold here, as fast as ever vice held iron.” + +“Hear me, Simon Glover,” said the prisoner; “let me but speak one word +with you in private, and rescue me from the gripe of this iron fisted +and leaden pated clown, and I will show thee that no harm was designed +to thee or thine, and, moreover, tell thee what will much advantage +thee.” + +“I should know that voice,” said Simon Glover, who now came to the door +with a dark lantern in his hand. “Son Smith, let this young man speak +with me. There is no danger in him, I promise you. Stay but an instant +where you are, and let no one enter the house, either to attack or +defend. I will be answerable that this galliard meant but some St. +Valentine’s jest.” + +So saying, the old man pulled in the prisoner and shut the door, +leaving Henry a little surprised at the unexpected light in which his +father-in-law had viewed the affray. + +“A jest!” he said; “it might have been a strange jest, if they had got +into the maiden’s sleeping room! And they would have done so, had it not +been for the honest friendly voice from betwixt the buttresses, which, +if it were not that of the blessed saint--though what am I that the holy +person should speak to me?--could not sound in that place without her +permission and assent, and for which I will promise her a wax candle at +her shrine, as long as my whinger; and I would I had had my two handed +broadsword instead, both for the sake of St. Johnston and of the rogues, +for of a certain those whingers are pretty toys, but more fit for a +boy’s hand than a man’s. Oh, my old two handed Trojan, hadst thou been +in my hands, as thou hang’st presently at the tester of my bed, the legs +of those rogues had not carried their bodies so clean off the field. But +there come lighted torches and drawn swords. So ho--stand! Are you for +St. Johnston? If friends to the bonny burgh, you are well come.” + +“We have been but bootless hunters,” said the townsmen. “We followed by +the tracks of the blood into the Dominican burial ground, and we started +two fellows from amongst the tombs, supporting betwixt them a third, who +had probably got some of your marks about him, Harry. They got to the +postern gate before we could overtake them, and rang the sanctuary +bell; the gate opened, and in went they. So they are safe in girth and +sanctuary, and we may go to our cold beds and warm us.” + +“Ay,” said one of the party, “the good Dominicans have always some +devout brother of their convent sitting up to open the gate of the +sanctuary to any poor soul that is in trouble, and desires shelter in +the church.” + +“Yes, if the poor hunted soul can pay for it,” said another “but, truly, +if he be poor in purse as well as in spirit, he may stand on the outside +till the hounds come up with him.” + +A third, who had been poring for a few minutes upon the ground by +advantage of his torch, now looked upwards and spoke. He was a +brisk, forward, rather corpulent little man, called Oliver Proudfute, +reasonably wealthy, and a leading man in his craft, which was that of +bonnet makers; he, therefore, spoke as one in authority. + +“Canst tell us, jolly smith”--for they recognised each other by the +lights which were brought into the streets--“what manner of fellows they +were who raised up this fray within burgh?” + +“The two that I first saw,” answered the armourer, “seemed to me, as +well as I could observe them, to have Highland plaids about them.” + +“Like enough--like enough,” answered another citizen, shaking his head. +“It’s a shame the breaches in our walls are not repaired, and that these +landlouping Highland scoundrels are left at liberty to take honest men +and women out of their beds any night that is dark enough.” + +“But look here, neighbours,” said Oliver Proudfute, showing a bloody +hand which he had picked up from the ground; “when did such a hand as +this tie a Highlandman’s brogues? It is large, indeed, and bony, but +as fine as a lady’s, with a ring that sparkles like a gleaming candle. +Simon Glover has made gloves for this hand before now, if I am not much +mistaken, for he works for all the courtiers.” + +The spectators here began to gaze on the bloody token with various +comments. + +“If that is the case,” said one, “Harry Smith had best show a clean pair +of heels for it, since the justiciar will scarce think the protecting a +burgess’s house an excuse for cutting off a gentleman’s hand. There be +hard laws against mutilation.” + +“Fie upon you, that you will say so, Michael Webster,” answered the +bonnet maker; “are we not representatives and successors of the stout +old Romans, who built Perth as like to their own city as they could? And +have we not charters from all our noble kings and progenitors, as being +their loving liegemen? And would you have us now yield up our rights, +privileges, and immunities, our outfang and infang, our handhaband, +our back bearand, and our blood suits, and amerciaments, escheats, +and commodities, and suffer an honest burgess’s house to be assaulted +without seeking for redress? No, brave citizens, craftsmen, and +burgesses, the Tay shall flow back to Dunkeld before we submit to such +injustice!” + +“And how can we help it?” said a grave old man, who stood leaning on a +two handed sword. “What would you have us do?” + +“Marry, Bailie Craigdallie, I wonder that you, of all men, ask the +question. I would have you pass like true men from this very place +to the King’s Grace’s presence, raise him from his royal rest, and +presenting to him the piteous case of our being called forth from our +beds at this season, with little better covering than these shirts, I +would show him this bloody token, and know from his Grace’s own royal +lips whether it is just and honest that his loving lieges should be thus +treated by the knights and nobles of his deboshed court. And this I call +pushing our cause warmly.” + +“Warmly, sayst thou?” replied the old burgess; “why, so warmly, that we +shall all die of cold, man, before the porter turn a key to let us into +the royal presence. Come, friends, the night is bitter, we have kept +our watch and ward like men, and our jolly smith hath given a warning to +those that would wrong us, which shall be worth twenty proclamations of +the king. Tomorrow is a new day; we will consult on this matter on this +self same spot, and consider what measures should be taken for discovery +and pursuit of the villains. And therefore let us dismiss before the +heart’s blood freeze in our veins.” + +“Bravo--bravo, neighbour Craigdallie! St. Johnston for ever!” + +Oliver Proudfute would still have spoken; for he was one of those +pitiless orators who think that their eloquence can overcome all +inconveniences in time, place, and circumstances. But no one would +listen, and the citizens dispersed to their own houses by the light of +the dawn, which began now to streak the horizon. + +They were scarce gone ere the door of the glover’s house opened, and +seizing the smith by the hand, the old man pulled him in. + +“Where is the prisoner?” demanded the armourer. + +“He is gone--escaped--fled--what do I know of him?” said the glover. “He +got out at the back door, and so through the little garden. Think not of +him, but come and see the Valentine whose honour and life you have saved +this morning.” + +“Let me but sheathe my weapon,” said the smith, “let me but wash my +hands.” + +“There is not an instant to lose, she is up and almost dressed. Come +on, man. She shall see thee with thy good weapon in thy hand, and with +villain’s blood on thy fingers, that she may know what is the value of a +true man’s service. She has stopped my mouth overlong with her pruderies +and her scruples. I will have her know what a brave man’s love is worth, +and a bold burgess’s to boot.” + + + +CHAPTER V. + + Up! lady fair, and braid thy hair, + And rouse thee in the breezy air, + Up! quit thy bower, late wears the hour, + Long have the rooks caw’d round the tower. + + JOANNA BAILLIE. + + +Startled from her repose by the noise of the affray, the Fair Maid of +Perth had listened in breathless terror to the sounds of violence and +outcry which arose from the street. She had sunk on her knees to pray +for assistance, and when she distinguished the voices of neighbours and +friends collected for her protection, she remained in the same posture +to return thanks. She was still kneeling when her father almost thrust +her champion, Henry Smith, into her apartment; the bashful lover hanging +back at first, as if afraid to give offence, and, on observing her +posture, from respect to her devotion. + +“Father,” said the armourer, “she prays; I dare no more speak to her +than to a bishop when he says mass.” + +“Now, go thy ways, for a right valiant and courageous blockhead,” said +her father--and then speaking to his daughter, he added, “Heaven is best +thanked, my daughter, by gratitude shown to our fellow creatures. Here +comes the instrument by whom God has rescued thee from death, or perhaps +from dishonour worse than death. Receive him, Catharine, as thy true +Valentine, and him whom I desire to see my affectionate son.” + +“Not thus--father,” replied Catharine. “I can see--can speak to no one +now. I am not ungrateful--perhaps I am too thankful to the instrument of +our safety; but let me thank the guardian saint who sent me this timely +relief, and give me but a moment to don my kirtle.” + +“Nay, God-a-mercy, wench, it were hard to deny thee time to busk thy +body clothes, since the request is the only words like a woman that thou +hast uttered for these ten days. Truly, son Harry, I would my daughter +would put off being entirely a saint till the time comes for her being +canonised for St. Catherine the Second.” + +“Nay, jest not, father; for I will swear she has at least one sincere +adorer already, who hath devoted himself to her pleasure, so far as +sinful man may. Fare thee well, then, for the moment, fair maiden,” he +concluded, raising his voice, “and Heaven send thee dreams as peaceful +as thy waking thoughts. I go to watch thy slumbers, and woe with him +that shall intrude on them!” + +“Nay, good and brave Henry, whose warm heart is at such variance with +thy reckless hand, thrust thyself into no farther quarrels tonight; +but take the kindest thanks, and with these, try to assume the peaceful +thoughts which you assign to me. Tomorrow we will meet, that I may +assure you of my gratitude. Farewell.” + +“And farewell, lady and light of my heart!” said the armourer, and, +descending the stair which led to Catharine’s apartment, was about to +sally forth into the street, when the glover caught him by the arm. + +“I shall like the ruffle of tonight,” said he, “better than I ever +thought to do the clashing of steel, if it brings my daughter to her +senses, Harry, and teaches her what thou art worth. By St. Macgrider! +I even love these roysterers, and am sorry for that poor lover who will +never wear left handed chevron again. Ay! he has lost that which he will +miss all the days of his life, especially when he goes to pull on his +gloves; ay, he will pay but half a fee to my craft in future. Nay, not +a step from this house tonight,” he continued “Thou dost not leave us, I +promise thee, my son.” + +“I do not mean it. But I will, with your permission, watch in the +street. The attack may be renewed.” + +“And if it be,” said Simon, “thou wilt have better access to drive them +back, having the vantage of the house. It is the way of fighting which +suits us burghers best--that of resisting from behind stone walls. Our +duty of watch and ward teaches us that trick; besides, enough are awake +and astir to ensure us peace and quiet till morning. So come in this +way.” + +So saying, he drew Henry, nothing loth, into the same apartment where +they had supped, and where the old woman, who was on foot, disturbed as +others had been by the nocturnal affray, soon roused up the fire. + +“And now, my doughty son,” said the glover, “what liquor wilt thou +pledge thy father in?” + +Henry Smith had suffered himself to sink mechanically upon a seat of old +black oak, and now gazed on the fire, that flashed back a ruddy light +over his manly features. He muttered to himself half audibly: “Good +Henry--brave Henry. Ah! had she but said, dear Henry!” + +“What liquors be these?” said the old glover, laughing. “My cellar holds +none such; but if sack, or Rhenish, or wine of Gascony can serve, why, +say the word and the flagon foams, that is all.” + +“The kindest thanks,” said the armourer, still musing, “that’s more +than she ever said to me before--the kindest thanks--what may not that +stretch to?” + +“It shall stretch like kid’s leather, man,” said the glover, “if +thou wilt but be ruled, and say what thou wilt take for thy morning’s +draught.” + +“Whatever thou wilt, father,” answered the armourer, carelessly, and +relapsed into the analysis of Catharine’s speech to him. “She spoke +of my warm heart; but she also spoke of my reckless hand. What earthly +thing can I do to get rid of this fighting fancy? Certainly I were best +strike my right hand off, and nail it to the door of a church, that it +may never do me discredit more.” + +“You have chopped off hands enough for one night,” said his friend, +setting a flagon of wine on the table. “Why dost thou vex thyself, man? +She would love thee twice as well did she not see how thou doatest upon +her. But it becomes serious now. I am not to have the risk of my booth +being broken and my house plundered by the hell raking followers of the +nobles, because she is called the Fair Maid of Perth, an’t please ye. +No, she shall know I am her father, and will have that obedience to +which law and gospel give me right. I will have her thy wife, Henry, my +heart of gold--thy wife, my man of mettle, and that before many weeks +are over. Come--come, here is to thy merry bridal, jolly smith.” + +The father quaffed a large cup, and filled it to his adopted son, +who raised it slowly to his head; then, ere it had reached his lips, +replaced it suddenly on the table and shook his head. + +“Nay, if thou wilt not pledge me to such a health, I know no one who +will,” said Simon. “What canst thou mean, thou foolish lad? Here has a +chance happened, which in a manner places her in thy power, since from +one end of the city to the other all would cry fie on her if she should +say thee nay. Here am I, her father, not only consenting to the cutting +out of the match, but willing to see you two as closely united +together as ever needle stitched buckskin. And with all this on thy +side--fortune, father, and all--thou lookest like a distracted lover +in a ballad, more like to pitch thyself into the Tay than to woo a lass +that may be had for the asking, if you can but choose the lucky minute.” + +“Ay, but that lucky minute, father? I question much if Catharine ever +has such a moment to glance on earth and its inhabitants as might lead +her to listen to a coarse ignorant borrel man like me. I cannot tell +how it is, father; elsewhere I can hold up my head like another man, but +with your saintly daughter I lose heart and courage, and I cannot help +thinking that it would be well nigh robbing a holy shrine if I could +succeed in surprising her affections. Her thoughts are too much fitted +for Heaven to be wasted on such a one as I am.” + +“E’en as you like, Henry,” answered the glover. “My daughter is not +courting you any more than I am--a fair offer is no cause offend; only +if you think that I will give in to her foolish notions of a convent, +take it with you that I will never listen to them. I love and honour +the church,” he said, crossing himself, “I pay her rights duly and +cheerfully--tithes and alms, wine and wax, I pay them as justly, I say, +as any man in Perth of my means doth--but I cannot afford the church my +only and single ewe lamb that I have in the world. Her mother was dear +to me on earth, and is now an angel in Heaven. Catharine is all I have +to remind me of her I have lost; and if she goes to the cloister, it +shall be when these old eyes are closed for ever, and not sooner. But +as for you, friend Gow, I pray you will act according to your own best +liking, I want to force no wife on you, I promise you.” + +“Nay, now you beat the iron twice over,” said Henry. “It is thus we +always end, father, by your being testy with me for not doing that +thing in the world which would make me happiest, were I to have it in my +power. Why, father, I would the keenest dirk I ever forged were sticking +in my heart at this moment if there is one single particle in it that +is not more your daughter’s property than my own. But what can I do? I +cannot think less of her, or more of myself, than we both deserve; and +what seems to you so easy and certain is to me as difficult as it would +be to work a steel hauberk out of bards of flax. But here is to you, +father,” he added, in a more cheerful tone; “and here is to my fair +saint and Valentine, as I hope your Catharine will be mine for the +season. And let me not keep your old head longer from the pillow, but +make interest with your featherbed till daybreak; and then you must be +my guide to your daughter’s chamber door, and my apology for entering +it, to bid her good morrow, for the brightest that the sun will awaken, +in the city or for miles round.” + +“No bad advice, my son,” said the honest glover, “But you, what will you +do? Will you lie down beside me, or take a part of Conachar’s bed?” + +“Neither,” answered Harry Gow; “I should but prevent your rest, and +for me this easy chair is worth a down bed, and I will sleep like a +sentinel, with my graith about me.” As he spoke, he laid his hand on his +sword. + +“Nay, Heaven send us no more need of weapons. Goodnight, or rather good +morrow, till day peep; and the first who wakes calls up the other.” + +Thus parted the two burghers. The glover retired to his bed, and, it +is to be supposed, to rest. The lover was not so fortunate. His bodily +frame easily bore the fatigue which he had encountered in the course of +the night, but his mind was of a different and more delicate mould. In +one point of view, he was but the stout burgher of his period, proud +alike of his art in making weapons and wielding them when made; his +professional jealousy, personal strength, and skill in the use of arms +brought him into many quarrels, which had made him generally feared, +and in some instances disliked. But with these qualities were united the +simple good nature of a child, and at the same time an imaginative and +enthusiastic temper, which seemed little to correspond with his labours +at the forge or his combats in the field. Perhaps a little of the hare +brained and ardent feeling which he had picked out of old ballads, or +from the metrical romances, which were his sole source of information +or knowledge, may have been the means of pricking him on to some of +his achievements, which had often a rude strain of chivalry in them; at +least, it was certain that his love to the fair Catharine had in it a +delicacy such as might have become the squire of low degree, who was +honoured, if song speaks truth, with the smiles of the King of Hungary’s +daughter. His sentiments towards her were certainly as exalted as if +they had been fixed upon an actual angel, which made old Simon, and +others who watched his conduct, think that his passion was too high +and devotional to be successful with maiden of mortal mould. They were +mistaken, however. Catharine, coy and reserved as she was, had a heart +which could feel and understand the nature and depth of the armourer’s +passion; and whether she was able to repay it or not, she had as much +secret pride in the attachment of the redoubted Henry Gow as a lady +of romance may be supposed to have in the company of a tame lion, who +follows to provide for and defend her. It was with sentiments of the +most sincere gratitude that she recollected, as she awoke at dawn, the +services of Henry during the course of the eventful night, and the first +thought which she dwelt upon was the means of making him understand her +feelings. + +Arising hastily from bed, and half blushing at her own purpose--“I have +been cold to him, and perhaps unjust; I will not be ungrateful,” she +said to herself, “though I cannot yield to his suit. I will not wait +till my father compels me to receive him as my Valentine for the year: +I will seek him out, and choose him myself. I have thought other girls +bold when they did something like this; but I shall thus best please my +father, and but discharge the rites due to good St. Valentine by showing +my gratitude to this brave man.” + +Hastily slipping on her dress, which, nevertheless, was left a good deal +more disordered than usual, she tripped downstairs and opened the door +of the chamber, in which, as she had guessed, her lover had passed the +hours after the fray. Catharine paused at the door, and became half +afraid of executing her purpose, which not only permitted but enjoined +the Valentines of the year to begin their connexion with a kiss of +affection. It was looked upon as a peculiarly propitious omen if the one +party could find the other asleep, and awaken him or her by performance +of this interesting ceremony. + +Never was a fairer opportunity offered for commencing this mystic +tie than that which now presented itself to Catharine. After many and +various thoughts, sleep had at length overcome the stout armourer in the +chair in which he had deposited himself. His features, in repose, had +a more firm and manly cast than Catharine had thought, who, having +generally seen them fluctuating between shamefacedness and apprehension +of her displeasure, had been used to connect with them some idea of +imbecility. + +“He looks very stern,” she said; “if he should be angry? And then when +he awakes--we are alone--if I should call Dorothy--if I should wake my +father? But no! it is a thing of custom, and done in all maidenly and +sisterly love and honour. I will not suppose that Henry can misconstrue +it, and I will not let a childish bashfulness put my gratitude to +sleep.” + +So saying, she tripped along the floor of the apartment with a light, +though hesitating, step; and a cheek crimsoned at her own purpose; and +gliding to the chair of the sleeper, dropped a kiss upon his lips as +light as if a rose leaf had fallen on them. The slumbers must have been +slight which such a touch could dispel, and the dreams of the sleeper +must needs have been connected with the cause of the interruption, +since Henry, instantly starting up, caught the maiden in his arms, and +attempted to return in ecstasy the salute which had broken his repose. +But Catharine struggled in his embrace; and as her efforts implied +alarmed modesty rather than maidenly coyness, her bashful lover suffered +her to escape a grasp from which twenty times her strength could not +have extricated her. + +“Nay, be not angry, good Henry,” said Catharine, in the kindest tone, to +her surprised lover. “I have paid my vows to St. Valentine, to show how +I value the mate which he has sent me for the year. Let but my father +be present, and I will not dare to refuse thee the revenge you may claim +for a broken sleep.” + +“Let not that be a hinderance,” said the old glover, rushing in ecstasy +into the room; “to her, smith--to her: strike while the iron is hot, and +teach her what it is not to let sleeping dogs lie still.” + +Thus encouraged, Henry, though perhaps with less alarming vivacity, +again seized the blushing maiden in his arms, who submitted with a +tolerable grace to receive repayment of her salute, a dozen times +repeated, and with an energy very different from that which had provoked +such severe retaliation. At length she again extricated herself from +her lover’s arms, and, as if frightened and repenting what she had done, +threw herself into a seat, and covered her face with her hands. + +“Cheer up, thou silly girl,” said her father, “and be not ashamed that +thou hast made the two happiest men in Perth, since thy old father is +one of them. Never was kiss so well bestowed, and meet it is that it +should be suitably returned. Look up, my darling! look up, and let me +see thee give but one smile. By my honest word, the sun that now rises +over our fair city shows no sight that can give me greater pleasure. +What,” he continued, in a jocose tone, “thou thoughtst thou hadst Jamie +Keddie’s ring, and couldst walk invisible? but not so, my fairy of the +dawning. Just as I was about to rise, I heard thy chamber door open, and +watched thee downstairs, not to protect thee against this sleepy headed +Henry, but to see with my own delighted eyes my beloved girl do that +which her father most wished. Come, put down these foolish hands, +and though thou blushest a little, it will only the better grace St. +Valentine’s morn, when blushes best become a maiden’s cheek.” + +As Simon Glover spoke, he pulled away, with gentle violence, the hands +which hid his daughter’s face. She blushed deeply indeed, but there was +more than maiden’s shame in her face, and her eyes were fast filling +with tears. + +“What! weeping, love?” continued her father; “nay--nay, this is more +than need. Henry, help me to comfort this little fool.” + +Catharine made an effort to collect herself and to smile, but the smile +was of a melancholy and serious cast. + +“I only meant to say, father,” said the Fair Maid of Perth, with +continued exertion, “that in choosing Henry Gow for my Valentine, and +rendering to him the rights and greeting of the morning, according to +wonted custom, I meant but to show my gratitude to him for his manly +and faithful service, and my obedience to you. But do not lead him to +think--and, oh, dearest father, do not yourself entertain an idea--that +I meant more than what the promise to be his faithful and affectionate +Valentine through the year requires of me.” + +“Ay--ay----ay--ay, we understand it all,” said Simon, in the soothing +tone which nurses apply to children. “We understand what the meaning +is; enough for once--enough for once. Thou shalt not be frightened or +hurried. Loving, true, and faithful Valentines are ye, and the rest as +Heaven and opportunity shall permit. Come, prithee, have done: wring +not thy tiny hands, nor fear farther persecution now. Thou hast done +bravely, excellently. And now, away to Dorothy, and call up the old +sluggard; we must have a substantial breakfast, after a night of +confusion and a morning of joy, and thy hand will be needed to prepare +for us some of these delicate cakes which no one can make but thyself; +and well hast thou a right to the secret, seeing who taught it thee. Ah! +health to the soul of thy dearest mother,” he added, with a sigh; “how +blythe would she have been to see this happy St. Valentine’s morning!” + +Catharine took the opportunity of escape which was thus given her, and +glided from the room. To Henry it seemed as if the sun had disappeared +from the heaven at midday, and left the world in sudden obscurity. Even +the high swelled hopes with which the late incident had filled him began +to quail, as he reflected upon her altered demeanour--the tears in her +eyes, the obvious fear which occupied her features, and the pains +she had taken to show, as plainly as delicacy would permit, that the +advances which she had made to him were limited to the character with +which the rites of the day had invested him. Her father looked on his +fallen countenance with something like surprise and displeasure. + +“In the name of good St. John, what has befallen you, that makes you +look as grave as an owl, when a lad of your spirit, having really such +a fancy for this poor girl as you pretend, ought to be as lively as a +lark?” + +“Alas, father!” replied the crestfallen lover, “there is that written +on her brow which says she loves me well enough to be my Valentine, +especially since you wish it, but not well enough to be my wife.” + +“Now, a plague on thee for a cold, downhearted goosecap,” answered the +father. “I can read a woman’s brow as well, and better, than thou, and +I can see no such matter on hers. What, the foul fiend, man! there thou +wast lying like a lord in thy elbow chair, as sound asleep as a judge, +when, hadst thou been a lover of any spirit, thou wouldst have been +watching the east for the first ray of the sun. But there thou layest, +snoring I warrant, thinking nought about her, or anything else; and the +poor girl rises at peep of day, lest any one else should pick up her +most precious and vigilant Valentine, and wakes thee with a grace +which--so help me, St. Macgrider!--would have put life in an anvil; and +thou awakest to hone, and pine, and moan, as if she had drawn a hot iron +across thy lips! I would to St. John she had sent old Dorothy on the +errand, and bound thee for thy Valentine service to that bundle of dry +bones, with never a tooth in her head. She were fittest Valentine in +Perth for so craven a wooer.” + +“As to craven, father,” answered the smith, “there are twenty good +cocks, whose combs I have plucked, can tell thee if I am craven or +no. And Heaven knows that I would give my good land, held by burgess’ +tenure, with smithy, bellows, tongs, anvil, and all, providing it would +make your view of the matter the true one. But it is not of her coyness +or her blushes that I speak; it is of the paleness which so soon +followed the red, and chased it from her cheeks; and it is of the +tears which succeeded. It was like the April showers stealing upon and +obscuring the fairest dawning that ever beamed over the Tay.” + +“Tutti taitti,” replied the glover; “neither Rome nor Perth were built +in a day. Thou hast fished salmon a thousand times, and mightst have +taken a lesson. When the fish has taken the fly, to pull a hard strain +on the line would snap the tackle to pieces, were it made of wire. Ease +your hand, man, and let him rise; take leisure, and in half an hour thou +layest him on the bank. There is a beginning as fair as you could wish, +unless you expect the poor wench to come to thy bedside as she did to +thy chair; and that is not the fashion of modest maidens. But observe +me; after we have had our breakfast, I will take care thou hast an +opportunity to speak thy mind; only beware thou be neither too backward +nor press her too hard. Give her line enough, but do not slack too fast, +and my life for yours upon the issue.” + +“Do what I can, father,” answered Henry, “you will always lay the blame +on me--either that I give too much head or that I strain the tackle. +I would give the best habergeon I ever wrought, that the difficulty in +truth rested with me, for there were then the better chance of its being +removed. I own, however, I am but an ass in the trick of bringing about +such discourse as is to the purpose for the occasion.” + +“Come into the booth with me, my son, and I will furnish thee with a +fitting theme. Thou knowest the maiden who ventures to kiss a sleeping +man wins of him a pair of gloves. Come to my booth; thou shalt have a +pair of delicate kid skin that will exactly suit her hand and arm. I +was thinking of her poor mother when I shaped them,” added honest Simon, +with a sigh; “and except Catharine, I know not the woman in Scotland +whom they would fit, though I have measured most of the high beauties of +the court. Come with me, I say, and thou shalt be provided with a theme +to wag thy tongue upon, providing thou hast courage and caution to stand +by thee in thy wooing.” + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + Never to man shall Catharine give her hand. + + Taming of the Shrew. + + +The breakfast was served, and the thin soft cakes, made of flour and +honey according to the family receipt, were not only commended with all +the partiality of a father and a lover, but done liberal justice to in +the mode which is best proof of cake as well as pudding. They talked, +jested, and laughed. Catharine, too, had recovered her equanimity where +the dames and damsels of the period were apt to lose theirs--in the +kitchen, namely, and in the superintendence of household affairs, in +which she was an adept. I question much if the perusal of Seneca for as +long a period would have had equal effect in composing her mind. + +Old Dorothy sat down at the board end, as was the homespun fashion +of the period; and so much were the two men amused with their own +conversation, and Catharine occupied either in attending to them or with +her own reflections, that the old woman was the first who observed the +absence of the boy Conachar. + +“It is true,” said the master glover; “go call him, the idle Highland +loon. He was not seen last night during the fray neither, at least I saw +him not. Did any of you observe him?” + +The reply was negative; and Henry’s observation followed: + +“There are times when Highlanders can couch like their own deer--ay, +and run from danger too as fast. I have seen them do so myself, for the +matter of that.” + +“And there are times,” replied Simon, “when King Arthur and his Round +Table could not make stand against them. I wish, Henry, you would speak +more reverently of the Highlanders. They are often in Perth, both alone +and in numbers, and you ought to keep peace with them so long as they +will keep peace with you.” + +An answer of defiance rose to Henry’s lips, but he prudently suppressed +it. “Why, thou knowest, father,” he said, smiling, “that we handicrafts +best love the folks we live by; now, my craft provides for valiant and +noble knights, gentle squires and pages, stout men at arms, and others +that wear the weapons which we make. It is natural I should like the +Ruthvens, the Lindsays, the Ogilvys, the Oliphants, and so many others +of our brave and noble neighbours, who are sheathed in steel of my +making, like so many paladins, better than those naked, snatching +mountaineers, who are ever doing us wrong, especially since no five of +each clan have a rusty shirt of mail as old as their brattach; and that +is but the work of the clumsy clan smith after all, who is no member of +our honourable mystery, but simply works at the anvil, where his father +wrought before him. I say, such people can have no favour in the eyes of +an honest craftsman.” + +“Well--well,” answered Simon; “I prithee let the matter rest even now, +for here comes the loitering boy, and, though it is a holyday morn, I +want no more bloody puddings.” + +The youth entered accordingly. His face was pale, his eyes red, and +there was an air of discomposure about his whole person. He sat down at +the lower end of the table, opposite to Dorothy, and crossed himself, as +if preparing for his morning’s meal. As he did not help himself to any +food, Catharine offered him a platter containing some of the cakes which +had met with such general approbation. At first he rejected her offered +kindness rather sullenly; but on her repeating the offer with a smile of +goodwill, he took a cake in his hand, broke it, and was about to eat a +morsel, when the effort to swallow seemed almost too much for him; and +though he succeeded, he did not repeat it. + +“You have a bad appetite for St. Valentine’s morning, Conachar,” said +his good humoured master; “and yet I think you must have slept soundly +the night before, since I conclude you were not disturbed by the noise +of the scuffle. Why, I thought a lively glune amie would have been at +his master’s side, dirk in hand, at the first sound of danger which +arose within a mile of us.” + +“I heard but an indistinct noise,” said the youth, his face glowing +suddenly like a heated coal, “which I took for the shout of some merry +revellers; and you are wont to bid me never open door or window, or +alarm the house, on the score of such folly.” + +“Well--well,” said Simon; “I thought a Highlander would have known +better the difference betwixt the clash of swords and the twanging on +harps, the wild war cry and the merry hunt’s up. But let it pass, boy; I +am glad thou art losing thy quarrelsome fashions. Eat thy breakfast, any +way, as I have that to employ thee which requires haste.” + +“I have breakfasted already, and am in haste myself. I am for the hills. +Have you any message to my father?” + +“None,” replied the glover, in some surprise; “but art thou beside +thyself, boy? or what a vengeance takes thee from the city, like the +wing of the whirlwind?” + +“My warning has been sudden,” said Conachar, speaking with difficulty; +but whether arising from the hesitation incidental to the use of a +foreign language, or whether from some other cause, could not easily +be distinguished. “There is to be a meeting--a great hunting--” Here he +stopped. + +“And when are you to return from this blessed hunting?” said the master; +“that is, if I may make so bold as to ask.” + +“I cannot exactly answer,” replied the apprentice. “Perhaps never, +if such be my father’s pleasure,” continued Conachar, with assumed +indifference. + +“I thought,” said Simon Glover, rather seriously, “that all this was to +be laid aside, when at earnest intercession I took you under my roof. I +thought that when I undertook, being very loth to do so, to teach you +an honest trade, we were to hear no more of hunting, or hosting, or clan +gatherings, or any matters of the kind?” + +“I was not consulted when I was sent hither,” said the lad, haughtily. +“I cannot tell what the terms were.” + +“But I can tell you, sir Conachar,” said the glover, angrily, “that +there is no fashion of honesty in binding yourself to an honest +craftsman, and spoiling more hides than your own is worth; and now, when +you are of age to be of some service, in taking up the disposal of +your time at your pleasure, as if it were your own property, not your +master’s.” + +“Reckon with my father about that,” answered Conachar; “he will pay you +gallantly--a French mutton for every hide I have spoiled, and a fat cow +or bullock for each day I have been absent.” + +“Close with him, friend Glover--close with him,” said the armourer, +drily. “Thou wilt be paid gallantly at least, if not honestly. Methinks +I would like to know how many purses have been emptied to fill the +goat skin sporran that is to be so free to you of its gold, and whose +pastures the bullocks have been calved in that are to be sent down to +you from the Grampian passes.” + +“You remind me, friend,” said the Highland youth, turning haughtily +towards the smith, “that I have also a reckoning to hold with you.” + +“Keep at arm’s length, then,” said Henry, extending his brawny arm: “I +will have no more close hugs--no more bodkin work, like last night. I +care little for a wasp’s sting, yet I will not allow the insect to come +near me if I have warning.” + +Conachar smiled contemptuously. “I meant thee no harm,” he said. “My +father’s son did thee but too much honour to spill such churl’s blood. I +will pay you for it by the drop, that it may be dried up, and no longer +soil my fingers.” + +“Peace, thou bragging ape!” said the smith: “the blood of a true man +cannot be valued in gold. The only expiation would be that thou shouldst +come a mile into the Low Country with two of the strongest galloglasses +of thy clan; and while I dealt with them, I would leave thee to the +correction of my apprentice, little Jankin.” + +Here Catharine interposed. “Peace,” she said, “my trusty Valentine, whom +I have a right to command; and peace you, Conachar, who ought to obey me +as your master’s daughter. It is ill done to awaken again on the morrow +the evil which has been laid to sleep at night.” + +“Farewell, then, master,” said Conachar, after another look of scorn at +the smith, which he only answered with a laugh--“farewell! and I thank +you for your kindness, which has been more than I deserve. If I have at +times seemed less than thankful, it was the fault of circumstances, and +not of my will. Catharine--” He cast upon the maiden a look of strong +emotion, in which various feelings were blended. He hesitated, as if +to say something, and at length turned away with the single word +“farewell.” + +Five minutes afterwards, with Highland buskins on his feet and a small +bundle in his hand, he passed through the north gate of Perth, and +directed his course to the Highlands. + +“There goes enough of beggary and of pride for a whole Highland clan,” + said Henry. “He talks as familiarly of gold pieces as I would of silver +pennies, and yet I will be sworn that the thumb of his mother’s worsted +glove might hold the treasure of the whole clan.” + +“Like enough,” said the glover, laughing at the idea; “his mother was a +large boned woman, especially in the fingers and wrist.” + +“And as for cattle,” continued Henry, “I reckon his father and brothers +steal sheep by one at a time.” + +“The less we say of them the better,” said the glover, becoming again +grave. “Brothers he hath none; his father is a powerful man--hath long +hands--reaches as far as he can, and hears farther than it is necessary +to talk of him.” + +“And yet he hath bound his only son apprentice to a glover in Perth?” + said Henry. “Why, I should have thought the gentle craft, as it is +called, of St. Crispin would have suited him best; and that, if the son +of some great Mac or O was to become an artisan, it could only be in the +craft where princes set him the example.” + +This remark, though ironical, seemed to awaken our friend Simon’s sense +of professional dignity, which was a prevailing feeling that marked the +manners of the artisans of the time. + +“You err, son Henry,” he replied, with much gravity: “the glovers’ are +the more honourable craft of the two, in regard they provide for the +accommodation of the hands, whereas the shoemakers and cordwainers do +but work for the feet.” + +“Both equally necessary members of the body corporate,” said Henry, +whose father had been a cordwainer. + +“It may be so, my son,” said the glover; “but not both alike honourable. +Bethink you, that we employ the hands as pledges of friendship and good +faith, and the feet have no such privilege. Brave men fight with their +hands; cowards employ their feet in flight. A glove is borne aloft; a +shoe is trampled in the mire. A man greets a friend with his open +hand; he spurns a dog, or one whom he holds as mean as a dog, with his +advanced foot. A glove on the point of a spear is a sign and pledge of +faith all the wide world over, as a gauntlet flung down is a gage of +knightly battle; while I know no other emblem belonging to an old shoe, +except that some crones will fling them after a man by way of good luck, +in which practice I avow myself to entertain no confidence.” + +“Nay,” said the smith, amused with his friend’s eloquent pleading for +the dignity of the art he practised, “I am not the man, I promise you, +to disparage the glover’s mystery. Bethink you, I am myself a maker of +gauntlets. But the dignity of your ancient craft removes not my wonder, +that the father of this Conachar suffered his son to learn a trade of +any kind from a Lowland craftsman, holding us, as they do, altogether +beneath their magnificent degree, and a race of contemptible drudges, +unworthy of any other fate than to be ill used and plundered, as often +as these bare breeched dunnie wassals see safety and convenience for +doing so.” + +“Ay,” answered the glover, “but there were powerful reasons for--for--” + he withheld something which seemed upon his lips, and went on: “for +Conachar’s father acting as he did. Well, I have played fair with him, +and I do not doubt but he will act honourably by me. But Conachar’s +sudden leave taking has put me to some inconvenience. He had things +under his charge. I must look through the booth.” + +“Can I help you, father?” said Henry Gow, deceived by the earnestness of +his manner. + +“You!--no,” said Simon, with a dryness which made Henry so sensible of +the simplicity of his proposal, that he blushed to the eyes at his own +dulness of comprehension, in a matter where love ought to have induced +him to take his cue easily up. + +“You, Catharine,” said the glover, as he left the room, “entertain your +Valentine for five minutes, and see he departs not till my return. Come +hither with me, old Dorothy, and bestir thy limbs in my behalf.” + +He left the room, followed by the old woman; and Henry Smith remained +with Catharine, almost for the first time in his life, entirely alone. +There was embarrassment on the maiden’s part, and awkwardness on that +of the lover, for about a minute; when Henry, calling up his courage, +pulled the gloves out of his pocket with which Simon had supplied him, +and asked her to permit one who had been so highly graced that morning +to pay the usual penalty for being asleep at the moment when he would +have given the slumbers of a whole twelvemonth to be awake for a single +minute. + +“Nay, but,” said Catharine, “the fulfilment of my homage to St. +Valentine infers no such penalty as you desire to pay, and I cannot +therefore think of accepting them.” + +“These gloves,” said Henry, advancing his seat insidiously towards +Catharine as he spoke, “were wrought by the hands that are dearest to +you; and see--they are shaped for your own.” + +He extended them as he spoke, and taking her arm in his robust hand, +spread the gloves beside it to show how well they fitted. + +“Look at that taper arm,” he said, “look at these small fingers; think +who sewed these seams of silk and gold, and think whether the glove and +the arm which alone the glove can fit ought to remain separate, because +the poor glove has had the misfortune to be for a passing minute in the +keeping of a hand so swart and rough as mine.” + +“They are welcome as coming from my father,” said Catharine; “and surely +not less so as coming from my friend (and there was an emphasis on the +word), as well as my Valentine and preserver.” + +“Let me aid to do them on,” said the smith, bringing himself yet closer +to her side; “they may seem a little over tight at first, and you may +require some assistance.” + +“You are skilful in such service, good Henry Gow,” said the maiden, +smiling, but at the same time drawing farther from her lover. + +“In good faith, no,” said Henry, shaking his head: “my experience has +been in donning steel gauntlets on mailed knights, more than in fitting +embroidered gloves upon maidens.” + +“I will trouble you then no further, and Dorothy shall aid me, though +there needs no assistance; my father’s eye and fingers are faithful to +his craft: what work he puts through his hands is always true to the +measure.” + +“Let me be convinced of it,” said the smith--“let me see that these +slender gloves actually match the hands they were made for.” + +“Some other time, good Henry,” answered the maiden, “I will wear the +gloves in honour of St. Valentine, and the mate he has sent me for +the season. I would to Heaven I could pleasure my father as well in +weightier matters; at present the perfume of the leather harms the +headache I have had since morning.” + +“Headache, dearest maiden!” echoed her lover. + +“If you call it heartache, you will not misname it,” said Catharine, +with a sigh, and proceeded to speak in a very serious tone. + +“Henry,” she said, “I am going perhaps to be as bold as I gave you +reason to think me this morning; for I am about to speak the first upon +a subject on which, it may well be, I ought to wait till I had to answer +you. But I cannot, after what has happened this morning, suffer my +feelings towards you to remain unexplained, without the possibility of +my being greatly misconceived. Nay, do not answer till you have heard me +out. You are brave, Henry, beyond most men, honest and true as the steel +you work upon--” + +“Stop--stop, Catharine, for mercy’s sake! You never said so much that +was good concerning me, save to introduce some bitter censure, of which +your praises were the harbingers. I am honest, and so forth, you would +say, but a hot brained brawler, and common sworder or stabber.” + +“I should injure both myself and you in calling you such. No, Henry, to +no common stabber, had he worn a plume in his bonnet and gold spurs on +his heels, would Catharine Glover have offered the little grace she has +this day voluntarily done to you. If I have at times dwelt severely upon +the proneness of your spirit to anger, and of your hand to strife, it is +because I would have you, if I could so persuade you, hate in yourself +the sins of vanity and wrath by which you are most easily beset. I have +spoken on the topic more to alarm your own conscience than to express +my opinion. I know as well as my father that, in these forlorn and +desperate days, the whole customs of our nation, nay, of every Christian +nation, may be quoted in favour of bloody quarrels for trifling causes, +of the taking deadly and deep revenge for slight offences, and the +slaughter of each other for emulation of honour, or often in mere sport. +But I knew that for all these things we shall one day be called into +judgment; and fain would I convince thee, my brave and generous friend, +to listen oftener to the dictates of thy good heart, and take less pride +in the strength and dexterity of thy unsparing arm.” + +“I am--I am convinced, Catharine” exclaimed Henry: “thy words shall +henceforward be a law to me. I have done enough, far too much, indeed, +for proof of my bodily strength and courage; but it is only from you, +Catharine, that I can learn a better way of thinking. Remember, my +fair Valentine, that my ambition of distinction in arms, and my love +of strife, if it can be called such, do not fight even handed with my +reason and my milder dispositions, but have their patrons and sticklers +to egg them on. Is there a quarrel, and suppose that I, thinking on your +counsels, am something loth to engage in it, believe you I am left to +decide between peace or war at my own choosing? Not so, by St. Mary! +there are a hundred round me to stir me on. ‘Why, how now, Smith, is thy +mainspring rusted?’ says one. ‘Jolly Henry is deaf on the quarrelling +ear this morning!’ says another. ‘Stand to it, for the honour of Perth,’ +says my lord the Provost. ‘Harry against them for a gold noble,’ cries +your father, perhaps. Now, what can a poor fellow do, Catharine, when +all are hallooing him on in the devil’s name, and not a soul putting in +a word on the other side?” + +“Nay, I know the devil has factors enough to utter his wares,” said +Catharine; “but it is our duty to despise such idle arguments, though +they may be pleaded even by those to whom we owe much love and honour.” + +“Then there are the minstrels, with their romaunts and ballads, which +place all a man’s praise in receiving and repaying hard blows. It is sad +to tell, Catharine, how many of my sins that Blind Harry the Minstrel +hath to answer for. When I hit a downright blow, it is not--so save +me--to do any man injury, but only to strike as William Wallace struck.” + +The minstrel’s namesake spoke this in such a tone of rueful seriousness, +that Catharine could scarce forbear smiling; but nevertheless she +assured him that the danger of his own and other men’s lives ought not +for a moment to be weighed against such simple toys. + +“Ay, but,” replied Henry, emboldened by her smiles, “methinks now +the good cause of peace would thrive all the better for an advocate. +Suppose, for example, that, when I am pressed and urged to lay hand on +my weapon, I could have cause to recollect that there was a gentle and +guardian angel at home, whose image would seem to whisper, ‘Henry, do no +violence; it is my hand which you crimson with blood. Henry, rush +upon no idle danger; it is my breast which you expose to injury;’ such +thoughts would do more to restrain my mood than if every monk in Perth +should cry, ‘Hold thy hand, on pain of bell, book, and candle.’” + +“If such a warning as could be given by the voice of sisterly affection +can have weight in the debate,” said Catharine, “do think that, in +striking, you empurple this hand, that in receiving wounds you harm this +heart.” + +The smith took courage at the sincerely affectionate tone in which these +words were delivered. + +“And wherefore not stretch your regard a degree beyond these cold +limits? Why, since you are so kind and generous as to own some interest +in the poor ignorant sinner before you, should you not at once adopt +him as your scholar and your husband? Your father desires it, the town +expects it, glovers and smiths are preparing their rejoicings, and you, +only you, whose words are so fair and so kind, you will not give your +consent.” + +“Henry,” said Catharine, in a low and tremulous voice, “believe me I +should hold it my duty to comply with my father’s commands, were there +not obstacles invincible to the match which he proposes.” + +“Yet think--think but for a moment. I have little to say for myself in +comparison of you, who can both read and write. But then I wish to hear +reading, and could listen to your sweet voice for ever. You love music, +and I have been taught to play and sing as well as some minstrels. You +love to be charitable, I have enough to give, and enough to keep, as +large a daily alms as a deacon gives would never be missed by me. Your +father gets old for daily toil; he would live with us, as I should truly +hold him for my father also. I would be as chary of mixing in causeless +strife as of thrusting my hand into my own furnace; and if there came +on us unlawful violence, its wares would be brought to an ill chosen +market.” + +“May you experience all the domestic happiness which you can conceive, +Henry, but with some one more happy than I am!” + +So spoke, or rather so sobbed, the Fair Maiden of Perth, who seemed +choking in the attempt to restrain her tears. + +“You hate me, then?” said the lover, after a pause. + +“Heaven is my witness, no.” + +“Or you love some other better?” + +“It is cruel to ask what it cannot avail you to know. But you are +entirely mistaken.” + +“Yon wildcat, Conachar, perhaps?” said Henry. “I have marked his +looks--” + +“You avail yourself of this painful situation to insult me, Henry, +though I have little deserved it. Conachar is nothing to me, more than +the trying to tame his wild spirit by instruction might lead me to +take some interest in a mind abandoned to prejudices and passions, and +therein, Henry, not unlike your own.” + +“It must then be some of these flaunting silkworm sirs about the +court,” said the armourer, his natural heat of temper kindling from +disappointment and vexation--“some of those who think they carry it +off through the height of their plumed bonnets and the jingle of their +spurs. I would I knew which it was that, leaving his natural mates, the +painted and perfumed dames of the court, comes to take his prey among +the simple maidens of the burgher craft. I would I knew but his name and +surname!” + +“Henry Smith,” said Catharine, shaking off the weakness which seemed to +threaten to overpower her a moment before, “this is the language of an +ungrateful fool, or rather of a frantic madman. I have told you already, +there was no one who stood, at the beginning of this conference, more +high in my opinion than he who is now losing ground with every word he +utters in the tone of unjust suspicion and senseless anger. You had no +title to know even what I have told you, which, I pray you to observe, +implies no preference to you over others, though it disowns any +preference of another to you. It is enough you should be aware that +there is as insuperable an objection to what you desire as if an +enchanter had a spell over my destiny.” + +“Spells may be broken by true men,” said, the smith. “I would it were +come to that. Thorbiorn, the Danish armourer, spoke of a spell he had +for making breastplates, by singing a certain song while the iron was +heating. I told him that his runic rhymes were no proof against the +weapons which fought at Loncarty--what farther came of it it is needless +to tell, but the corselet and the wearer, and the leech who salved his +wound, know if Henry Gow can break a spell or no.” + +Catharine looked at him as if about to return an answer little approving +of the exploit he had vaunted, which the downright smith had not +recollected was of a kind that exposed him to her frequent censure. But +ere she had given words to her thoughts, her father thrust his head in +at the door. + +“Henry,” he said, “I must interrupt your more pleasing affairs, and +request you to come into my working room in all speed, to consult about +certain matters deeply affecting the weal of the burgh.” + +Henry, making his obeisance to Catharine, left the apartment upon her +father’s summons. Indeed, it was probably in favour of their future +friendly intercourse, that they were parted on this occasion at the +turn which the conversation seemed likely to take. For, as the wooer +had begun to hold the refusal of the damsel as somewhat capricious and +inexplicable after the degree of encouragement which, in his opinion, +she had afforded; Catharine, on the other hand, considered him rather +as an encroacher upon the grace which she had shown him than one whose +delicacy rendered him deserving of such favour. But there was living +in their bosoms towards each other a reciprocal kindness, which, on the +termination of the dispute, was sure to revive, inducing the maiden +to forget her offended delicacy, and the lover his slighted warmth of +passion. + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + This quarrel may draw blood another day. + + Henry IV. Part I. + + +The conclave of citizens appointed to meet for investigating the affray +of the preceding evening had now assembled. The workroom of Simon Glover +was filled to crowding by personages of no little consequence, some of +whom wore black velvet cloaks, and gold chains around their necks. +They were, indeed, the fathers of the city; and there were bailies and +deacons in the honoured number. There was an ireful and offended air of +importance upon every brow as they conversed together, rather in whisper +than aloud or in detail. Busiest among the busy, the little important +assistant of the previous night, Oliver Proudfute by name, and bonnet +maker by profession, was bustling among the crowd, much after the +manner of the seagull, which flutters, screams, and sputters most at the +commencement of a gale of wind, though one can hardly conceive what the +bird has better to do than to fly to its nest and remain quiet till the +gale is over. + +Be that as it may, Master Proudfute was in the midst of the crowd, +his fingers upon every one’s button and his mouth in every man’s ear, +embracing such as were near to his own stature, that he might more +closely and mysteriously utter his sentiments; and standing on tiptoe, +and supporting himself by the cloak collars of tall men, that he might +dole out to them also the same share of information. He felt himself one +of the heroes of the affair, being conscious of the dignity of superior +information on the subject as an eyewitness, and much disposed to push +his connexion with the scuffle a few points beyond the modesty of truth. +It cannot be said that his communications were in especial curious and +important, consisting chiefly of such assertions as these: + +“It is all true, by St. John! I was there and saw it myself--was the +first to run to the fray; and if it had not been for me and another +stout fellow, who came in about the same time, they had broken into +Simon Glover’s house, cut his throat, and carried his daughter off +to the mountains. It is too evil usage--not to be suffered, neighbour +Crookshank; not to be endured, neighbour Glass; not to be borne, +neighbours Balneaves, Rollock, and Chrysteson. It was a mercy that I +and that stout fellow came in, was it not, neighbour and worthy Bailie +Craigdallie?” + +These speeches were dispersed by the busy bonnet maker into sundry ears. +Bailie Craigdallie, a portly guild brother, the same who had advised the +prorogation of their civic council to the present place and hour, a big, +burly, good looking man, shook the deacon from his cloak with pretty +much the grace with which a large horse shrugs off the importunate +fly that has beset him for ten minutes, and exclaimed, “Silence, good +citizens; here comes Simon Glover, in whom no man ever saw falsehood. We +will hear the outrage from his own mouth.” + +Simon being called upon to tell his tale, did so with obvious +embarrassment, which he imputed to a reluctance that the burgh should +be put in deadly feud with any one upon his account. It was, he dared to +say, a masking or revel on the part of the young gallants about court; +and the worst that might come of it would be, that he would put iron +stanchions on his daughter’s window, in case of such another frolic. + +“Why, then, if this was a mere masking or mummery,” said Craigdallie, +“our townsman, Harry of the Wind, did far wrong to cut off a gentleman’s +hand for such a harmless pleasantry, and the town may be brought to a +heavy fine for it, unless we secure the person of the mutilator.” + +“Our Lady forbid!” said the glover. “Did you know what I do, you would +be as much afraid of handling this matter as if it were glowing iron. +But, since you will needs put your fingers in the fire, truth must be +spoken. And come what will, I must say, that the matter might have ended +ill for me and mine, but for the opportune assistance of Henry Gow, the +armourer, well known to you all.” + +“And mine also was not awanting,” said Oliver Proudfute, “though I do +not profess to be utterly so good a swordsman as our neighbour Henry +Gow. You saw me, neighbour Glover, at the beginning of the fray?” + +“I saw you after the end of it, neighbour,” answered the glover, drily. + +“True--true; I had forgot you were in your house while the blows were +going, and could not survey who were dealing them.” + +“Peace, neighbour Proudfute--I prithee, peace,” said Craigdallie, who +was obviously tired of the tuneless screeching of the worthy deacon. + +“There is something mysterious here,” said the bailie; “but I think I +spy the secret. Our friend Simon is, as you all know, a peaceful man, +and one that will rather sit down with wrong than put a friend, or say a +neighbourhood, in danger to seek his redress. Thou, Henry, who art never +wanting where the burgh needs a defender, tell us what thou knowest of +this matter.” + +Our smith told his story to the same purpose which we have already +related; and the meddling maker of bonnets added as before, “And thou +sawest me there, honest smith, didst thou not?” + +“Not I, in good faith, neighbour,” answered Henry; “but you are a little +man, you know, and I might overlook you.” + +This reply produced a laugh at Oliver’s expense, who laughed for +company, but added doggedly, “I was one of the foremost to the rescue +for all that.” + +“Why, where wert thou, then, neighbour?” said the smith; “for I saw you +not, and I would have given the worth of the best suit of armour I ever +wrought to have seen as stout a fellow as thou at my elbow.” + +“I was no farther off, however, honest smith; and whilst thou wert +laying on blows as if on an anvil, I was parrying those that the rest of +the villains aimed at thee behind thy back; and that is the cause thou +sawest me not.” + +“I have heard of smiths of old time who had but one eye,” said Henry; “I +have two, but they are both set in my forehead, and so I could not see +behind my back, neighbour.” + +“The truth is, however,” persevered Master Oliver, “there I was, and I +will give Master Bailie my account of the matter; for the smith and I +were first up to the fray.” + +“Enough at present,” said the bailie, waving to Master Proudfute an +injunction of silence. “The precognition of Simon Glover and Henry Gow +would bear out a matter less worthy of belief. And now, my masters, +your opinion what should be done. Here are all our burgher rights broken +through and insulted, and you may well fancy that it is by some man of +power, since no less dared have attempted such an outrage. My masters, +it is hard on flesh and blood to submit to this. The laws have framed us +of lower rank than the princes and nobles, yet it is against reason to +suppose that we will suffer our houses to be broken into, and the honour +of our women insulted, without some redress.” + +“It is not to be endured!” answered the citizens, unanimously. + +Here Simon Glover interfered with a very anxious and ominous +countenance. “I hope still that all was not meant so ill as it seemed +to us, my worthy neighbours; and I for one would cheerfully forgive the +alarm and disturbance to my poor house, providing the Fair City were not +brought into jeopardy for me. I beseech you to consider who are to be +our judges that are to hear the case, and give or refuse redress. I +speak among neighbours and friends, and therefore I speak openly. The +King, God bless him! is so broken in mind and body, that he will but +turn us over to some great man amongst his counsellors who shall be in +favour for the time. Perchance he will refer us to his brother the Duke +of Albany, who will make our petition for righting of our wrongs the +pretence for squeezing money out of us.” + +“We will none of Albany for our judge!” answered the meeting with the +same unanimity as before. + +“Or perhaps,” added Simon, “he will bid the Duke of Rothsay take charge +of it; and the wild young prince will regard the outrage as something +for his gay companions to scoff at, and his minstrels to turn into +song.” + +“Away with Rothsay! he is too gay to be our judge,” again exclaimed the +citizens. + +Simon, emboldened by seeing he was reaching the point he aimed at, yet +pronouncing the dreaded name with a half whisper, next added, “Would you +like the Black Douglas better to deal with?” + +There was no answer for a minute. They looked on each other with fallen +countenances and blanched lips. + +But Henry Smith spoke out boldly, and in a decided voice, the sentiments +which all felt, but none else dared give words to: “The Black Douglas to +judge betwixt a burgher and a gentleman, nay, a nobleman, for all I know +or care! The black devil of hell sooner! You are mad, father Simon, so +much as to name so wild a proposal.” + +There was again a silence of fear and uncertainty, which was at length +broken by Bailie Craigdallie, who, looking very significantly to the +speaker, replied, “You are confident in a stout doublet, neighbour +Smith, or you would not talk so boldly.” + +“I am confident of a good heart under my doublet, such as it is, +bailie,” answered the undaunted Henry; “and though I speak but little, +my mouth shall never be padlocked by any noble of them all.” + +“Wear a thick doublet, good Henry, or do not speak so loud,” reiterated +the bailie in the same significant tone. “There are Border men in the +town who wear the bloody heart on their shoulder. But all this is no +rede. What shall we do?” + +“Short rede, good rede,” said the smith. “Let us to our provost, and +demand his countenance and assistance.” + +A murmur of applause went through the party, and Oliver Proudfute +exclaimed, “That is what I have been saying for this half hour, and not +one of ye would listen to me. ‘Let us go to our provost,’ said I. ‘He is +a gentleman himself, and ought to come between the burgh and the nobles +in all matters.” + +“Hush, neighbours--hush; be wary what you say or do,” said a thin meagre +figure of a man, whose diminutive person seemed still more reduced in +size, and more assimilated to a shadow, by his efforts to assume an +extreme degree of humility, and make himself, to suit his argument, look +meaner yet, and yet more insignificant, than nature had made him. + +“Pardon me,” said he; “I am but a poor pottingar. Nevertheless, I have +been bred in Paris, and learned my humanities and my cursus medendi as +well as some that call themselves learned leeches. Methinks I can tent +this wound, and treat it with emollients. Here is our friend Simon +Glover, who is, as you all know, a man of worship. Think you he would +not be the most willing of us all to pursue harsh courses here, since +his family honour is so nearly concerned? And since he blenches away +from the charge against these same revellers, consider if he may not +have some good reason more than he cares to utter for letting the matter +sleep. It is not for me to put my finger on the sore; but, alack! we all +know that young maidens are what I call fugitive essences. Suppose now, +an honest maiden--I mean in all innocence--leaves her window unlatched +on St. Valentine’s morn, that some gallant cavalier may--in all honesty, +I mean--become her Valentine for the season, and suppose the gallant +be discovered, may she not scream out as if the visit were unexpected, +and--and--bray all this in a mortar, and then consider, will it be a +matter to place the town in feud for?” + +The pottingar delivered his opinion in a most insinuating manner; but +he seemed to shrink into something less than his natural tenuity when he +saw the blood rise in the old cheek of Simon Glover, and inflame to the +temples the complexion of the redoubted smith. + +The last, stepping forward, and turning a stern look on the alarmed +pottingar, broke out as follows: “Thou walking skeleton! thou asthmatic +gallipot! thou poisoner by profession! if I thought that the puff of +vile breath thou hast left could blight for the tenth part of a minute +the fair fame of Catharine Glover, I would pound thee, quacksalver! +in thine own mortar, and beat up thy wretched carrion with flower of +brimstone, the only real medicine in thy booth, to make a salve to rub +mangy hounds with!” + +“Hold, son Henry--hold!” cried the glover, in a tone of authority, +“no man has title to speak of this matter but me. Worshipful Bailie +Craigdallie, since such is the construction that is put upon my +patience, I am willing to pursue this riot to the uttermost; and though +the issue may prove that we had better have been patient, you will +all see that my Catharine hath not by any lightness or folly of hers +afforded grounds for this great scandal.” + +The bailie also interposed. “Neighbour Henry,” said he, “we came here to +consult, and not to quarrel. As one of the fathers of the Fair City, I +command thee to forego all evil will and maltalent you may have against +Master Pottingar Dwining.” + +“He is too poor a creature, bailie,” said Henry Gow, “for me to harbour +feud with--I that could destroy him and his booth with one blow of my +forehammer.” + +“Peace, then, and hear me,” said the official. “We all are as much +believers in the honour of the Fair Maiden of Perth as in that of our +Blessed Lady.” Here he crossed himself devoutly. “But touching our +appeal to our provost, are you agreed, neighbours, to put matter like +this into our provost’s hand, being against a powerful noble, as is to +be feared?” + +“The provost being himself a nobleman,” squeaked the pottingar, in some +measure released from his terror by the intervention of the bailie. +“God knows, I speak not to the disparagement of an honourable gentleman, +whose forebears have held the office he now holds for many years--” + +“By free choice of the citizens of Perth,” said the smith, interrupting +the speaker with the tones of his deep and decisive voice. + +“Ay, surely,” said the disconcerted orator, “by the voice of the +citizens. How else? I pray you, friend Smith, interrupt me not. I speak +to our worthy and eldest bailie, Craigdallie, according to my poor +mind. I say that, come amongst us how he will, still this Sir Patrick +Charteris is a nobleman, and hawks will not pick hawks’ eyes out. He may +well bear us out in a feud with the Highlandmen, and do the part of our +provost and leader against them; but whether he that himself wears silk +will take our part against broidered cloak and cloth of gold, though +he may do so against tartan and Irish frieze, is something to be +questioned. Take a fool’s advice. We have saved our Maiden, of whom +I never meant to speak harm, as truly I knew none. They have lost one +man’s hand, at least, thanks to Harry Smith--” + +“And to me,” added the little important bonnet maker. + +“And to Oliver Proudfute, as he tells us,” continued the pottingar, who +contested no man’s claim to glory provided he was not himself compelled +to tread the perilous paths which lead to it. “I say, neighbours, since +they have left a hand as a pledge they will never come in Couvrefew +Street again, why, in my simple mind, we were best to thank our stout +townsman, and the town having the honour and these rakehells the loss, +that we should hush the matter up and say no more about it.” + +These pacific counsels had their effect with some of the citizens, +who began to nod and look exceedingly wise upon the advocate of +acquiescence, with whom, notwithstanding the offence so lately given, +Simon Glover seemed also to agree in opinion. But not so Henry Smith, +who, seeing the consultation at a stand, took up the speech in his usual +downright manner. + +“I am neither the oldest nor the richest among you, neighbours, and I am +not sorry for it. Years will come, if one lives to see them; and I can +win and spend my penny like another, by the blaze of the furnace and the +wind of the bellows. But no man ever saw me sit down with wrong done +in word or deed to our fair town, if man’s tongue and man’s hand could +right it. Neither will I sit down with this outrage, if I can help it. +I will go to the provost myself, if no one will go with me; he is a +knight, it is true, and a gentleman of free and true born blood, as we +all know, since Wallace’s time, who settled his great grandsire amongst +us. But if he were the proudest nobleman in the land, he is the Provost +of Perth, and for his own honour must see the freedoms and immunities of +the burgh preserved--ay, and I know he will. I have made a steel doublet +for him, and have a good guess at the kind of heart that it was meant to +cover.” + +“Surely,” said Bailie Craigdallie, “it would be to no purpose to stir +at court without Sir Patrick Charteris’s countenance: the ready answer +would be, ‘Go to your provost, you borrel loons.’ So, neighbours and +townsmen, if you will stand by my side, I and our pottingar Dwining +will repair presently to Kinfauns, with Sim Glover, the jolly smith, and +gallant Oliver Proudfute, for witnesses to the onslaught, and speak with +Sir Patrick Charteris, in name of the fair town.” + +“Nay,” said the peaceful man of medicine, “leave me behind, I pray you: +I lack audacity to speak before a belted knight.” + +“Never regard that, neighbour, you must go,” said Bailie Craigdallie. +“The town hold me a hot headed carle for a man of threescore; Sim Glover +is the offended party; we all know that Harry Gow spoils more harness +with his sword than he makes with his hammer and our neighbour +Proudfute, who, take his own word, is at the beginning and end of every +fray in Perth, is of course a man of action. We must have at least one +advocate amongst us for peace and quietness; and thou, pottingar, must +be the man. Away with you, sirs, get your boots and your beasts--horse +and hattock, I say, and let us meet at the East Port; that is, if it is +your pleasure, neighbours, to trust us with the matter.” + +“There can be no better rede, and we will all avouch it,” said the +citizens. “If the provost take our part, as the Fair Town hath a right +to expect, we may bell the cat with the best of them.” + +“It is well, then, neighbours,” answered the bailie; “so said, so shall +be done. Meanwhile, I have called the whole town council together about +this hour, and I have little doubt,” looking around the company, “that, +as so many of them who are in this place have resolved to consult with +our provost, the rest will be compliant to the same resolution. And, +therefore, neighbours, and good burghers of the Fair City of Perth, +horse and hattock, as I said before, and meet me at the East Port.” + +A general acclamation concluded the sitting of this species of privy +council, or Lords of the Articles; and they dispersed, the deputation to +prepare for the journey, and the rest to tell their impatient wives and +daughters of the measures they had taken to render their chambers safe +in future against the intrusion of gallants at unseasonable hours. + +While nags are saddling, and the town council debating, or rather +putting in form what the leading members of their body had already +adopted, it may be necessary, for the information of some readers, +to state in distinct terms what is more circuitously intimated in the +course of the former discussion. + +It was the custom at this period, when the strength of the feudal +aristocracy controlled the rights, and frequently insulted the +privileges, of the royal burghs of Scotland, that the latter, where it +was practicable, often chose their provost, or chief magistrate, not out +of the order of the merchants, shopkeepers, and citizens, who inhabited +the town itself, and filled up the roll of the ordinary magistracy, but +elected to that preeminent state some powerful nobleman, or baron, in +the neighbourhood of the burgh, who was expected to stand their friend +at court in such matters as concerned their common weal, and to lead +their civil militia to fight, whether in general battle or in private +feud, reinforcing them with his own feudal retainers. This protection +was not always gratuitous. The provosts sometimes availed themselves of +their situation to an unjustifiable degree, and obtained grants of lands +and tenements belonging to the common good, or public property of the +burgh, and thus made the citizens pay dear for the countenance which +they afforded. Others were satisfied to receive the powerful aid of the +townsmen in their own feudal quarrels, with such other marks of respect +and benevolence as the burgh over which they presided were willing to +gratify them with, in order to secure their active services in case of +necessity. The baron, who was the regular protector of a royal burgh, +accepted such freewill offerings without scruple, and repaid them by +defending the rights of the town by arguments in the council and by bold +deeds in the field. + +The citizens of the town, or, as they loved better to call it, the +Fair City, of Perth, had for several generations found a protector +and provost of this kind in the knightly family of Charteris, Lords of +Kinfauns, in the neighbourhood of the burgh. It was scarce a century (in +the time of Robert III) since the first of this distinguished family +had settled in the strong castle which now belonged to them, with the +picturesque and fertile scenes adjoining to it. But the history of the +first settler, chivalrous and romantic in itself, was calculated to +facilitate the settlement of an alien in the land in which his lot was +cast. We relate it as it is given by an ancient and uniform tradition, +which carries in it great indications of truth, and is warrant enough, +perhaps, for it insertion in graver histories than the present. + +During the brief career of the celebrated patriot Sir William Wallace, +and when his arms had for a time expelled the English invaders from his +native country, he is said to have undertaken a voyage to France, with +a small band of trusty friends, to try what his presence (for he was +respected through all countries for his prowess) might do to induce the +French monarch to send to Scotland a body of auxiliary forces, or other +assistance, to aid the Scots in regaining their independence. + +The Scottish Champion was on board a small vessel, and steering for the +port of Dieppe, when a sail appeared in the distance, which the mariners +regarded, first with doubt and apprehension, and at last with confusion +and dismay. Wallace demanded to know what was the cause of their alarm. +The captain of the ship informed him that the tall vessel which was +bearing down, with the purpose of boarding that which he commanded, was +the ship of a celebrated rover, equally famed for his courage, strength +of body, and successful piracies. It was commanded by a gentleman named +Thomas de Longueville, a Frenchman by birth, but by practice one of +those pirates who called themselves friends to the sea and enemies to +all who sailed upon that element. He attacked and plundered vessels +of all nations, like one of the ancient Norse sea kings, as they were +termed, whose dominion was upon the mountain waves. The master added +that no vessel could escape the rover by flight, so speedy was the bark +he commanded; and that no crew, however hardy, could hope to resist him, +when, as was his usual mode of combat, he threw himself on board at the +head of his followers. + +Wallace smiled sternly, while the master of the ship, with alarm in his +countenance and tears in his eyes, described to him the certainty of +their being captured by the Red Rover, a name given to De Longueville, +because he usually displayed the blood red flag, which he had now +hoisted. + +“I will clear the narrow seas of this rover,” said Wallace. + +Then calling together some ten or twelve of his own followers, Boyd, +Kerlie, Seton, and others, to whom the dust of the most desperate battle +was like the breath of life, he commanded them to arm themselves, +and lie flat upon the deck, so as to be out of sight. He ordered the +mariners below, excepting such as were absolutely necessary to manage +the vessel; and he gave the master instructions, upon pain of death, so +to steer as that, while the vessel had an appearance of attempting to +fly, he should in fact permit the Red Rover to come up with them and do +his worst. Wallace himself then lay down on the deck, that nothing might +be seen which could intimate any purpose of resistance. In a quarter of +an hour De Longueville’s vessel ran on board that of the Champion, and +the Red Rover, casting out grappling irons to make sure of his prize, +jumped on the deck in complete armour, followed by his men, who gave a +terrible shout, as if victory had been already secured. But the armed +Scots started up at once, and the rover found himself unexpectedly +engaged with men accustomed to consider victory as secure when they +were only opposed as one to two or three. Wallace himself rushed on the +pirate captain, and a dreadful strife began betwixt them with such fury +that the others suspended their own battle to look on, and seemed by +common consent to refer the issue of the strife to the fate of the +combat between the two chiefs. The pirate fought as well as man could +do; but Wallace’s strength was beyond that of ordinary mortals. He +dashed the sword from the rover’s hand, and placed him in such peril +that, to avoid being cut down, he was fain to close with the Scottish +Champion in hopes of overpowering him in the grapple. In this also he +was foiled. They fell on the deck, locked in each other’s arms, but the +Frenchman fell undermost; and Wallace, fixing his grasp upon his gorget, +compressed it so closely, notwithstanding it was made of the finest +steel, that the blood gushed from his eyes, nose, and month, and he was +only able to ask for quarter by signs. His men threw down their weapons +and begged for mercy when they saw their leader thus severely handled. +The victor granted them all their lives, but took possession of their +vessel, and detained them prisoners. + +When he came in sight of the French harbour, Wallace alarmed the place +by displaying the rover’s colours, as if De Longueville was coming to +pillage the town. The bells were rung backward, horns were blown, and +the citizens were hurrying to arms, when the scene changed. The Scottish +Lion on his shield of gold was raised above the piratical flag, and +announced that the Champion of Scotland was approaching, like a falcon +with his prey in his clutch. He landed with his prisoner, and carried +him to the court of France, where, at Wallace’s request, the robberies +which the pirate had committed were forgiven, and the king even +conferred the honour of knighthood on Sir Thomas de Longueville, and +offered to take him into his service. But the rover had contracted such +a friendship for his generous victor, that he insisted on uniting his +fortunes with those of Wallace, with whom he returned to Scotland, and +fought by his side in many a bloody battle, where the prowess of Sir +Thomas de Longueville was remarked as inferior to that of none, save of +his heroic conqueror. His fate also was more fortunate than that of his +patron. Being distinguished by the beauty as well as strength of his +person, he rendered himself so acceptable to a young lady, heiress of +the ancient family of Charteris, that she chose him for her husband, +bestowing on him with her hand the fair baronial Castle of Kinfauns, and +the domains annexed to it. Their descendants took the name of Charteris, +as connecting themselves with their maternal ancestors, the ancient +proprietors of the property, though the name of Thomas de Longueville +was equally honoured amongst them; and the large two handed sword with +which he mowed the ranks of war was, and is still, preserved among +the family muniments. Another account is, that the family name of De +Longueville himself was Charteris. The estate afterwards passed to a +family of Blairs, and is now the property of Lord Gray. + +These barons of Kinfauns, from father to son, held, for several +generations, the office of Provost of Perth, the vicinity of the castle +and town rendering it a very convenient arrangement for mutual support. +The Sir Patrick of this history had more than once led out the men of +Perth to battles and skirmishes with the restless Highland depredators, +and with other enemies, foreign and domestic. True it is, he +used sometimes to be weary of the slight and frivolous complaints +unnecessarily brought before him, and in which he was requested to +interest himself. Hence he had sometimes incurred the charge of being +too proud as a nobleman, or too indolent as a man of wealth, and one who +was too much addicted to the pleasures of the field and the exercise of +feudal hospitality, to bestir himself upon all and every occasion +when the Fair Town would have desired his active interference. But, +notwithstanding that this occasioned some slight murmuring, the +citizens, upon any serious cause of alarm, were wont to rally around +their provost, and were warmly supported by him both in council and +action. + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + Within the bounds of Annandale + The gentle Johnstones ride; + They have been there a thousand years, + A thousand more they’ll bide. + + Old Ballad. + + +The character and quality of Sir Patrick Charteris, the Provost of +Perth, being such as we have sketched in the last chapter, let us now +return to the deputation which was in the act of rendezvousing at the +East Port, in order to wait upon that dignitary with their complaints at +Kinfauns. + +And first appeared Simon Glover, on a pacing palfrey, which had +sometimes enjoyed the honour of bearing the fairer person as well as the +lighter weight of his beautiful daughter. His cloak was muffled round +the lower part of his face, as a sign to his friends not to interrupt +him by any questions while he passed through the streets, and partly, +perhaps, on account of the coldness of the weather. The deepest anxiety +was seated on his brow, as if the more he meditated on the matter he was +engaged in, the more difficult and perilous it appeared. He only greeted +by silent gestures his friends as they came to the rendezvous. + +A strong black horse, of the old Galloway breed, of an under size, and +not exceeding fourteen hands, but high shouldered, strong limbed, well +coupled, and round barrelled, bore to the East Port the gallant smith. A +judge of the animal might see in his eye a spark of that vicious temper +which is frequently the accompaniment of the form that is most vigorous +and enduring; but the weight, the hand, and the seat of the rider, +added to the late regular exercise of a long journey, had subdued his +stubbornness for the present. He was accompanied by the honest bonnet +maker, who being, as the reader is aware, a little round man, and +what is vulgarly called duck legged, had planted himself like a red +pincushion (for he was wrapped in a scarlet cloak, over which he had +slung a hawking pouch), on the top of a great saddle, which he might be +said rather to be perched upon than to bestride. The saddle and the man +were girthed on the ridge bone of a great trampling Flemish mare, with +a nose turned up in the air like a camel, a huge fleece of hair at each +foot, and every hoof full as large in circumference as a frying pan. The +contrast between the beast and the rider was so extremely extraordinary, +that, whilst chance passengers contented themselves with wondering how +he got up, his friends were anticipating with sorrow the perils which +must attend his coming down again; for the high seated horseman’s +feet did not by any means come beneath the laps of the saddle. He had +associated himself to the smith, whose motions he had watched for the +purpose of joining him; for it was Oliver Proudfute’s opinion that men +of action showed to most advantage when beside each other; and he was +delighted when some wag of the lower class had gravity enough to cry +out, without laughing outright: “There goes the pride of Perth--there go +the slashing craftsmen, the jolly Smith of the Wynd and the bold bonnet +maker!” + +It is true, the fellow who gave this all hail thrust his tongue in his +cheek to some scapegraces like himself; but as the bonnet maker did not +see this byplay, he generously threw him a silver penny to encourage +his respect for martialists. This munificence occasioned their being +followed by a crowd of boys, laughing and hallooing, until Henry Smith, +turning back, threatened to switch the foremost of them--a resolution +which they did not wait to see put in execution. + +“Here are we the witnesses,” said the little man on the large horse, +as they joined Simon Glover at the East Port; “but where are they that +should back us? Ah, brother Henry! authority is a load for an ass rather +than a spirited horse: it would but clog the motions of such young +fellows as you and me.” + +“I could well wish to see you bear ever so little of that same weight, +worthy Master Proudfute,” replied Henry Gow, “were it but to keep you +firm in the saddle; for you bounce aloft as if you were dancing a jig on +your seat, without any help from your legs.” + +“Ay--ay; I raise myself in my stirrups to avoid the jolting. She is +cruelly hard set this mare of mine; but she has carried me in field +and forest, and through some passages that were something perilous, +so Jezabel and I part not. I call her Jezabel, after the Princess of +Castile.” + +“Isabel, I suppose you mean,” answered the smith. + +“Ay--Isabel, or Jezabel--all the same, you know. But here comes Bailie +Craigdallie at last, with that poor, creeping, cowardly creature the +pottingar. They have brought two town officers with their partizans, to +guard their fair persons, I suppose. If there is one thing I hate more +than another, it is such a sneaking varlet as that Dwining.” + +“Have a care he does not hear you say so,” said the smith, “I tell thee, +bonnet maker, that there is more danger in yonder slight wasted anatomy +than in twenty stout fellows like yourself.” + +“Pshaw! Bully Smith, you are but jesting with me,” said Oliver, +softening his voice, however, and looking towards the pottingar, as if +to discover in what limb or lineament of his wasted face and form lay +any appearance of the menaced danger; and his examination reassuring +him, he answered boldly: “Blades and bucklers, man, I would stand the +feud of a dozen such as Dwining. What could he do to any man with blood +in his veins?” + +“He could give him a dose of physic,” answered the smith drily. + +They had no time for further colloquy, for Bailie Craigdallie called to +them to take the road to Kinfauns, and himself showed the example. As +they advanced at a leisurely pace, the discourse turned on the reception +which they were to expect from their provost, and the interest which +he was likely to take in the aggression which they complained of. The +glover seemed particularly desponding, and talked more than once in +a manner which implied a wish that they would yet consent to let the +matter rest. He did not speak out very plainly, however, fearful, +perhaps, of the malignant interpretation which might be derived from +any appearance of his flinching from the assertion of his daughter’s +reputation. Dwining seemed to agree with him in opinion, but spoke more +cautiously than in the morning. + +“After all,” said the bailie, “when I think of all the propines and +good gifts which have passed from the good town to my Lord Provost’s, +I cannot think he will be backward to show himself. More than one lusty +boat, laden with Bordeaux wine, has left the South Shore to discharge +its burden under the Castle of Kinfauns. I have some right to speak of +that, who was the merchant importer.” + +“And,” said Dwining, with his squeaking voice, “I could speak of +delicate confections, curious comfits, loaves of wastel bread, and even +cakes of that rare and delicious condiment which men call sugar, that +have gone thither to help out a bridal banquet, or a kirstening feast, +or suchlike. But, alack, Bailie Craigdallie, wine is drunk, comfits are +eaten, and the gift is forgotten when the flavour is past away. Alas! +neighbour, the banquet of last Christmas is gone like the last year’s +snow.” + +“But there have been gloves full of gold pieces,” said the magistrate. + +“I should know that who wrought them,” said Simon, whose professional +recollections still mingled with whatever else might occupy his mind. +“One was a hawking glove for my lady. I made it something wide. Her +ladyship found no fault, in consideration of the intended lining.” + +“Well, go to,” said Bailie Craigdallie, “the less I lie; and if these +are not to the fore, it is the provost’s fault, and not the town’s: they +could neither be eat nor drunk in the shape in which he got them.” + +“I could speak of a brave armour too,” said the smith; “but, cogan na +schie! [Peace or war, I care not!] as John Highlandman says--I think the +knight of Kinfauns will do his devoir by the burgh in peace or war; and +it is needless to be reckoning the town’s good deeds till we see him +thankless for them.” + +“So say I,” cried our friend Proudfute, from the top of his mare. “We +roystering blades never bear so base a mind as to count for wine and +walnuts with a friend like Sir Patrick Charteris. Nay, trust me, a good +woodsman like Sir Patrick will prize the right of hunting and sporting +over the lands of the burgh as an high privilege, and one which, his +Majesty the King’s Grace excepted, is neither granted to lord nor loon +save to our provost alone.” + +As the bonnet maker spoke, there was heard on the left hand the cry of, +“So so--waw waw--haw,” being the shout of a falconer to his hawk. + +“Methinks yonder is a fellow using the privilege you mention, who, from +his appearance, is neither king nor provost,” said the smith. + +“Ay, marry, I see him,” said the bonnet maker, who imagined the occasion +presented a prime opportunity to win honour. “Thou and I, jolly smith, +will prick towards him and put him to the question.” + +“Have with you, then,” cried the smith; and his companion spurred his +mare and went off, never doubting that Gow was at his heels. + +But Craigdallie caught Henry’s horse by the reins. “Stand fast by the +standard,” he said; “let us see the luck of our light horseman. If he +procures himself a broken pate he will be quieter for the rest of the +day.” + +“From what I already see,” said the smith, “he may easily come by such +a boon. Yonder fellow, who stops so impudently to look at us, as if he +were engaged in the most lawful sport in the world--I guess him, by his +trotting hobbler, his rusty head piece with the cock’s feather, and long +two handed sword, to be the follower of some of the southland lords--men +who live so near the Southron, that the black jack is never off their +backs, and who are as free of their blows as they are light in their +fingers.” + +Whilst they were thus speculating on the issue of the rencounter the +valiant bonnet maker began to pull up Jezabel, in order that the smith, +who he still concluded was close behind, might overtake him, and either +advance first or at least abreast of himself. But when he saw him at a +hundred yards distance, standing composedly with the rest of the group, +the flesh of the champion, like that of the old Spanish general, began +to tremble, in anticipation of the dangers into which his own venturous +spirit was about to involve it. Yet the consciousness of being +countenanced by the neighbourhood of so many friends, the hopes that +the appearance of such odds must intimidate the single intruder, and the +shame of abandoning an enterprise in which he had volunteered, and +when so many persons must witness his disgrace, surmounted the strong +inclination which prompted him to wheel Jezabel to the right about, and +return to the friends whose protection he had quitted, as fast as her +legs could carry them. He accordingly continued his direction towards +the stranger, who increased his alarm considerably by putting his little +nag in motion, and riding to meet him at a brisk trot. On observing this +apparently offensive movement, our hero looked over his left shoulder +more than once, as if reconnoitring the ground for a retreat, and in the +mean while came to a decided halt. But the Philistine was upon him +ere the bonnet maker could decide whether to fight or fly, and a very +ominous looking Philistine he was. His figure was gaunt and lathy, his +visage marked by two or three ill favoured scars, and the whole man had +much the air of one accustomed to say, “Stand and deliver,” to a true +man. + +This individual began the discourse by exclaiming, in tones as sinister +as his looks, “The devil catch you for a cuckoo, why do you ride across +the moor to spoil my sport?” + +“Worthy stranger,” said our friend, in the tone of pacific remonstrance, +“I am Oliver Proudfute, a burgess of Perth, and a man of substance; +and yonder is the worshipful Adam Craigdallie, the oldest bailie of the +burgh, with the fighting Smith of the Wynd, and three or four armed +men more, who desire to know your name, and how you come to take your +pleasure over these lands belonging to the burgh of Perth; although, +natheless, I will answer for them, it is not their wish to quarrel with +a gentleman, or stranger for any accidental trespass; only it is +their use and wont not to grant such leave, unless it is duly asked; +and--and--therefore I desire to know your name, worthy sir.” + +The grim and loathly aspect with which the falconer had regarded +Oliver Proudfute during his harangue had greatly disconcerted him, and +altogether altered the character of the inquiry which, with Henry Gow to +back him, he would probably have thought most fitting for the occasion. + +The stranger replied to it, modified as it was, with a most inauspicious +grin, which the scars of his visage made appear still more repulsive. +“You want to know my name? My name is the Devil’s Dick of Hellgarth, +well known in Annandale for a gentle Johnstone. I follow the stout Laird +of Wamphray, who rides with his kinsman the redoubted Lord of Johnstone, +who is banded with the doughty Earl of Douglas; and the earl and the +lord, and the laird and I, the esquire, fly our hawks where we find our +game, and ask no man whose ground we ride over.” + +“I will do your message, sir,” replied Oliver Proudfute, meekly enough; +for he began to be very desirous to get free of the embassy which he had +so rashly undertaken, and was in the act of turning his horse’s head, +when the Annandale man added: + +“And take you this to boot, to keep you in mind that you met the Devil’s +Dick, and to teach you another time to beware how you spoil the sport of +any one who wears the flying spur on his shoulder.” + +With these words he applied two or three smart blows of his riding rod +upon the luckless bonnet maker’s head and person. Some of them lighted +upon Jezabel, who, turning sharply round, laid her rider upon the moor, +and galloped back towards the party of citizens. + +Proudfute, thus overthrown, began to cry for assistance in no very +manly voice, and almost in the same breath to whimper for mercy; for his +antagonist, dismounting almost as soon as he fell, offered a whinger, +or large wood knife, to his throat, while he rifled the pockets of the +unlucky citizen, and even examined his hawking bag, swearing two or +three grisly oaths, that he would have what it contained, since the +wearer had interrupted his sport. He pulled the belt rudely off, +terrifying the prostrate bonnet maker still more by the regardless +violence which he used, as, instead of taking the pains to unbuckle the +strap, he drew till the fastening gave way. But apparently it contained +nothing to his mind. He threw it carelessly from him, and at the +same time suffered the dismounted cavalier to rise, while he himself +remounted his hobbler, and looked towards the rest of Oliver’s party, +who were now advancing. + +When they had seen their delegate overthrown, there was some laughter; +so much had the vaunting humor of the bonnet maker prepared his friends +to rejoice when, as Henry Smith termed it, they saw the Oliver meet with +a Rowland. But when the bonnet maker’s adversary was seen to bestride +him, and handle him in the manner described, the armourer could hold out +no longer. + +“Please you, good Master Bailie, I cannot endure to see our townsman +beaten and rifled, and like to be murdered before us all. It reflects +upon the Fair Town, and if it is neighbour Proudfute’s misfortune, it is +our shame. I must to his rescue.” + +“We will all go to his rescue,” answered Bailie Craigdallie; “but let no +man strike without order from me. We have more feuds on our hands, it is +to be feared, than we have strength to bring to good end. And therefore +I charge you all, more especially you, Henry of the Wynd, in the name of +the Fair City, that you make no stroke but in self defence.” + +They all advanced, therefore, in a body; and the appearance of such a +number drove the plunderer from his booty. He stood at gaze, however, at +some distance, like the wolf, which, though it retreats before the dogs, +cannot be brought to absolute flight. + +Henry, seeing this state of things, spurred his horse and advanced far +before the rest of the party, up towards the scene of Oliver Proudfute’s +misfortune. His first task was to catch Jezabel by the flowing rein, and +his next to lead her to meet her discomfited master, who was crippling +towards him, his clothes much soiled with his fall, his eyes streaming +with tears, from pain as well as mortification, and altogether +exhibiting an aspect so unlike the spruce and dapper importance of +his ordinary appearance, that the honest smith felt compassion for +the little man, and some remorse at having left him exposed to such +disgrace. All men, I believe, enjoy an ill natured joke. The difference +is, that an ill natured person can drink out to the very dregs the +amusement which it affords, while the better moulded mind soon loses the +sense of the ridiculous in sympathy for the pain of the sufferer. + +“Let me pitch you up to your saddle again, neighbour,” said the smith, +dismounting at the same time, and assisting Oliver to scramble into his +war saddle, as a monkey might have done. + +“May God forgive you, neighbour Smith, for not backing of me! I would +not have believed in it, though fifty credible witnesses had sworn it of +you.” + +Such were the first words, spoken in sorrow more than anger, by which +the dismayed Oliver vented his feelings. + +“The bailie kept hold of my horse by the bridle; and besides,” Henry +continued, with a smile, which even his compassion could not suppress, +“I thought you would have accused me of diminishing your honour, if I +brought you aid against a single man. But cheer up! the villain took +foul odds of you, your horse not being well at command.” + +“That is true--that is true,” said Oliver, eagerly catching at the +apology. + +“And yonder stands the faitour, rejoicing at the mischief he has done, +and triumphing in your overthrow, like the king in the romance, who +played upon the fiddle whilst a city was burning. Come thou with me, and +thou shalt see how we will handle him. Nay, fear not that I will desert +thee this time.” + +So saying, he caught Jezabel by the rein, and galloping alongside of +her, without giving Oliver time to express a negative, he rushed towards +the Devil’s Dick, who had halted on the top of a rising ground at some +distance. The gentle Johnstone, however, either that he thought the +contest unequal, or that he had fought enough for the day, snapping his +fingers and throwing his hand out with an air of defiance, spurred his +horse into a neighbouring bog, through which he seemed to flutter like +a wild duck, swinging his lure round his head, and whistling to his hawk +all the while, though any other horse and rider must have been instantly +bogged up to the saddle girths. + +“There goes a thoroughbred moss trooper,” said the smith. “That fellow +will fight or flee as suits his humor, and there is no use to pursue +him, any more than to hunt a wild goose. He has got your purse, I doubt +me, for they seldom leave off till they are full handed.” + +“Ye--ye--yes,” said Proudfute, in a melancholy tone, “he has got my +purse; but there is less matter since he hath left the hawking bag.” + +“Nay, the hawking bag had been an emblem of personal victory, to be +sure--a trophy, as the minstrels call it.” + +“There is more in it than that, friend,” said Oliver, significantly. + +“Why, that is well, neighbour: I love to hear you speak in your own +scholarly tone again. Cheer up, you have seen the villain’s back, and +regained the trophies you had lost when taken at advantage.” + +“Ah, Henry Gow--Henry Gow--” said the bonnet maker, and stopped short +with a deep sigh, nearly amounting to a groan. + +“What is the matter?” asked his friend--“what is it you vex yourself +about now?” + +“I have some suspicion, my dearest friend, Henry Smith, that the villain +fled for fear of you, not of me.” + +“Do not think so,” replied the armourer: “he saw two men and fled, and +who can tell whether he fled for one or the other? Besides, he knows +by experience your strength and activity: we all saw how you kicked and +struggled when you were on the ground.” + +“Did I?” said poor Proudfute. “I do not remember it, but I know it is my +best point: I am a strong dog in the loins. But did they all see it?” + +“All as much as I,” said the smith, smothering an inclination to +laughter. + +“But thou wilt remind them of it?” + +“Be assured I will,” answered Henry, “and of thy desperate rally even +now. Mark what I say to Bailie Craigdallie, and make the best of it.” + +“It is not that I require any evidence in thy favour, for I am as brave +by nature as most men in Perth; but only--” Here the man of valour +paused. + +“But only what?” inquired the stout armourer. + +“But only I am afraid of being killed. To leave my pretty wife and my +young family, you know, would be a sad change, Smith. You will know this +when it is your own case, and will feel abated in courage.” + +“It is like that I may,” said the armourer, musing. + +“Then I am so accustomed to the use of arms, and so well breathed, that +few men can match me. It’s all here,” said the little man, expanding his +breast like a trussed fowl, and patting himself with his hands--“here is +room for all the wind machinery.” + +“I dare say you are long breathed--long winded; at least your speech +bewrays--” + +“My speech! You are a wag--But I have got the stern post of a dromond +brought up the river from Dundee.” + +“The stern post of a Drummond!” exclaimed the armourer; “conscience, +man, it will put you in feud with the whole clan--not the least wrathful +in the country, as I take it.” + +“St. Andrew, man, you put me out! I mean a dromond--that is, a large +ship. I have fixed this post in my yard, and had it painted and carved +something like a soldan or Saracen, and with him I breathe myself, and +will wield my two handed sword against him, thrust or point, for an hour +together.” + +“That must make you familiar with the use of your weapon,” said the +smith. + +“Ay, marry does it; and sometimes I will place you a bonnet--an old one, +most likely--on my soldan’s head, and cleave it with such a downright +blow that in troth, the infidel has but little of his skull remaining to +hit at.” + +“That is unlucky, for you will lose your practice,” said Henry. “But how +say you, bonnet maker? I will put on my head piece and corselet one +day, and you shall hew at me, allowing me my broadsword to parry and pay +back? Eh, what say you?” + +“By no manner of means, my dear friend. I should do you too much evil; +besides, to tell you the truth, I strike far more freely at a helmet or +bonnet when it is set on my wooden soldan; then I am sure to fetch it +down. But when there is a plume of feathers in it that nod, and two eyes +gleaming fiercely from under the shadow of the visor, and when the whole +is dancing about here and there, I acknowledge it puts out my hand of +fence.” + +“So, if men would but stand stock still like your soldan, you would play +the tyrant with them, Master Proudfute?” + +“In time, and with practice, I conclude I might,” answered Oliver. “But +here we come up with the rest of them. Bailie Craigdallie looks angry, +but it is not his kind of anger that frightens me.” + +You are to recollect, gentle reader, that as soon as the bailie and +those who attended him saw that the smith had come up to the forlorn +bonnet maker, and that the stranger had retreated, they gave themselves +no trouble about advancing further to his assistance, which they +regarded as quite ensured by the presence of the redoubted Henry Gow. +They had resumed their straight road to Kinfauns, desirous that nothing +should delay the execution of their mission. As some time had +elapsed ere the bonnet maker and the smith rejoined the party, Bailie +Craigdallie asked them, and Henry Smith in particular, what they meant +by dallying away precious time by riding uphill after the falconer. + +“By the mass, it was not my fault, Master Bailie,” replied the smith. +“If ye will couple up an ordinary Low Country greyhound with a Highland +wolf dog, you must not blame the first of them for taking the direction +in which it pleases the last to drag him on. It was so, and not +otherwise, with my neighbour Oliver Proudfute. He no sooner got up from +the ground, but he mounted his mare like a flash of lightning, and, +enraged at the unknightly advantage which yonder rascal had taken of +his stumbling horse, he flew after him like a dromedary. I could not but +follow, both to prevent a second stumble and secure our over bold friend +and champion from the chance of some ambush at the top of the hill. But +the villain, who is a follower of some Lord of the Marches, and wears a +winged spur for his cognizance, fled from our neighbour like fire from +flint.” + +The senior bailie of Perth listened with surprise to the legend which +it had pleased Gow to circulate; for, though not much caring for the +matter, he had always doubted the bonnet maker’s romancing account +of his own exploits, which hereafter he must hold as in some degree +orthodox. + +The shrewd old glover looked closer into the matter. “You will drive the +poor bonnet maker mad,” he whispered to Henry, “and set him a-ringing +his clapper as if he were a town bell on a rejoicing day, when for order +and decency it were better he were silent.” + +“Oh, by Our Lady, father,” replied the smith, “I love the poor little +braggadocio, and could not think of his sitting rueful and silent in +the provost’s hall, while all the rest of them, and in especial that +venomous pottingar, were telling their mind.” + +“Thou art even too good natured a fellow, Henry,” answered Simon. “But +mark the difference betwixt these two men. The harmless little bonnet +maker assumes the airs of a dragon, to disguise his natural cowardice; +while the pottingar wilfully desires to show himself timid, poor +spirited, and humble, to conceal the danger of his temper. The adder +is not the less deadly that he creeps under a stone. I tell thee, son +Henry, that, for all his sneaking looks and timorous talking, this +wretched anatomy loves mischief more than he fears danger. But here we +stand in front of the provost’s castle; and a lordly place is Kinfauns, +and a credit to the city it is, to have the owner of such a gallant +castle for its chief magistrate.” + +“A goodly fortalice, indeed,” said the smith, looking at the broad +winding Tay, as it swept under the bank on which the castle stood, like +its modern successor, and seemed the queen of the valley, although, on +the opposite side of the river, the strong walls of Elcho appeared to +dispute the pre-eminence. Elcho, however, was in that age a peaceful +nunnery, and the walls with which it was surrounded were the barriers of +secluded vestals, not the bulwarks of an armed garrison. + +“‘Tis a brave castle,” said the armourer, again looking at the towers +of Kinfauns, “and the breastplate and target of the bonny course of the +Tay. It were worth lipping a good blade, before wrong were offered to +it.” + +The porter of Kinfauns, who knew from a distance the persons and +characters of the party, had already opened the courtyard gate for +their entrance, and sent notice to Sir Patrick Charteris that the eldest +bailie of Perth, with some other good citizens, were approaching the +castle. The good knight, who was getting ready for a hawking party, +heard the intimation with pretty much the same feelings that the modern +representative of a burgh hears of the menaced visitation of a party of +his worthy electors, at a time rather unseasonable for their reception. +That is, he internally devoted the intruders to Mahound and Termagaunt, +and outwardly gave orders to receive them with all decorum and civility; +commanded the sewers to bring hot venison steaks and cold baked meats +into the knightly hall with all despatch, and the butler to broach his +casks, and do his duty; for if the Fair City of Perth sometimes filled +his cellar, her citizens were always equally ready to assist at emptying +his flagons. + +The good burghers were reverently marshalled into the hall, where the +knight, who was in a riding habit, and booted up to the middle of +his thighs, received them with a mixture of courtesy and patronising +condescension; wishing them all the while at the bottom of the Tay, on +account of the interruption their arrival gave to his proposed amusement +of the morning. He met them in the midst of the hall, with bare head and +bonnet in hand, and some such salutation as the following: + +“Ha, my Master Eldest Bailie, and you, worthy Simon Glover, fathers of +the Fair City, and you, my learned pottingar, and you, stout smith, and +my slashing bonnet maker too, who cracks more skulls than he covers, how +come I to have the pleasure of seeing so many friends so early? I was +thinking to see my hawks fly, and your company will make the sport more +pleasant--(Aside, I trust in Our Lady they may break their necks!)--that +is, always, unless the city have any commands to lay on me. Butler +Gilbert, despatch, thou knave. But I hope you have no more grave errand +than to try if the malvoisie holds its flavour?” + +The city delegates answered to their provost’s civilities by +inclinations and congees, more or less characteristic, of which the +pottingar’s bow was the lowest and the smith’s the least ceremonious. +Probably he knew his own value as a fighting man upon occasion. To the +general compliment the elder bailie replied. + +“Sir Patrick Charteris, and our noble Lord Provost,” said Craigdallie, +gravely, “had our errand been to enjoy the hospitality with which we +have been often regaled here, our manners would have taught us to tarry +till your lordship had invited us, as on other occasions. And as to +hawking, we have had enough on’t for one morning; since a wild fellow, +who was flying a falcon hard by on the moor, unhorsed and cudgelled our +worthy friend Oliver Bonnet Maker, or Proudfute, as some men call him, +merely because he questioned him, in your honour’s name, and the town of +Perth’s, who or what he was that took so much upon him.” + +“And what account gave he of himself?” said the provost. “By St. John! I +will teach him to forestall my sport!” + +“So please your lordship,” said the bonnet maker, “he did take me at +disadvantage. But I got on horseback again afterwards, and pricked after +him gallantly. He calls himself Richard the Devil.” + +“How, man! he that the rhymes and romances are made on?” said the +provost. “I thought that smaik’s name had been Robert.” + +“I trow they be different, my lord. I only graced this fellow with the +full title, for indeed he called himself the Devil’s Dick, and said he +was a Johnstone, and a follower of the lord of that name. But I put him +back into the bog, and recovered my hawking bag, which he had taken when +I was at disadvantage.” + +Sir Patrick paused for an instant. “We have heard,” said he, “of the +Lord of Johnstone, and of his followers. Little is to be had by meddling +with them. Smith, tell me, did you endure this?” + +“Ay, faith did I, Sir Patrick, having command from my betters not to +help.” + +“Well, if thou satst down with it,” said the provost, “I see not why we +should rise up; especially as Master Oliver Proudfute, though taken at +advantage at first, has, as he has told us; recovered his reputation and +that of the burgh. But here comes the wine at length. Fill round to my +good friends and guests till the wine leap over the cup. Prosperity to +St. Johnston, and a merry welcome to you all, my honest friends! And +now sit you to eat a morsel, for the sun is high up, and it must be long +since you thrifty men have broken your fast.” + +“Before we eat, my Lord Provost,” said the bailie, “let us tell you the +pressing cause of our coming, which as yet we have not touched upon.” + +“Nay, prithee, bailie,” said the provost, “put it off till thou hast +eaten. Some complaint against the rascally jackmen and retainers of the +nobles, for playing at football on the streets of the burgh, or some +such goodly matter.” + +“No, my lord,” said Craigdallie, stoutly and firmly. “It is the +jackmen’s masters of whom we complain, for playing at football with the +honour of our families, and using as little ceremony with our daughters’ +sleeping chambers as if they were in a bordel at Paris. A party of +reiving night walkers--courtiers and men of rank, as there is but too +much reason to believe--attempted to scale the windows of Simon Glover’s +house last night; they stood in their defence with drawn weapons when +they were interrupted by Henry Smith, and fought till they were driven +off by the rising of the citizens.” + +“How!” said Sir Patrick, setting down the cup which he was about to +raise to his head. “Cock’s body, make that manifest to me, and, by +the soul of Thomas of Longueville, I will see you righted with my best +power, were it to cost me life and land. Who attests this? Simon Glover, +you are held an honest and a cautious man--do you take the truth of this +charge upon your conscience?” + +“My lord,” said Simon, “understand I am no willing complainer in this +weighty matter. No damage has arisen, save to the breakers of the peace +themselves. I fear only great power could have encouraged such lawless +audacity; and I were unwilling to put feud between my native town and +some powerful nobleman on my account. But it has been said that, if I +hang back in prosecuting this complaint, it will be as much as admitting +that my daughter expected such a visit, which is a direct falsehood. +Therefore, my lord, I will tell your lordship what happened, so far as I +know, and leave further proceeding to your wisdom.” + +He then told, from point to point, all that he had seen of the attack. + +Sir Patrick Charteris, listening with much attention, seemed +particularly struck with the escape of the man who had been made +prisoner. + +“Strange,” he said, “that you did not secure him when you had him. Did +you not look at him so as to know him again?” + +“I had but the light of a lantern, my Lord Provost; and as to suffering +him to escape, I was alone,” said the glover, “and old. But yet I might +have kept him, had I not heard my daughter shriek in the upper room; +and ere I had returned from her chamber the man had escaped through the +garden.” + +“Now, armourer, as a true man and a good soldier,” said Sir Patrick, +“tell me what you know of this matter.” + +Henry Gow, in his own decided style, gave a brief but clear narrative of +the whole affair. + +Honest Proudfute being next called upon, began his statement with an air +of more importance. “Touching this awful and astounding tumult within +the burgh, I cannot altogether, it is true, say with Henry Gow that I +saw the very beginning. But it will not be denied that I beheld a great +part of the latter end, and especially that I procured the evidence most +effectual to convict the knaves.” + +“And what is it, man?” said Sir Patrick Charteris. “Never lose time +fumbling and prating about it. What is it?” + +“I have brought your lordship, in this pouch, what one of the rogues +left behind him,” said the little man. “It is a trophy which, in good +faith and honest truth, I do confess I won not by the blade, but I +claim the credit of securing it with that presence of mind which few men +possess amidst flashing torches and clashing weapons. I secured it, my +lord, and here it is.” + +So saying, he produced, from the hawking pouch already mentioned, the +stiffened hand which had been found on the scene of the skirmish. + +“Nay, bonnet maker,” said the provost, “I’ll warrant thee man enough to +secure a rogue’s hand after it is cut from the body. What do you look so +busily for in your bag?” + +“There should have been--there was--a ring, my lord, which was on the +knave’s finger. I fear I have been forgetful, and left it at home, for +I took it off to show to my wife, as she cared not to look upon the dead +hand, as women love not such sights. But yet I thought I had put it on +the finger again. Nevertheless, it must, I bethink me, be at home. I +will ride back for it, and Henry Smith will trot along with me.” + +“We will all trot with thee,” said Sir Patrick Charteris, “since I +am for Perth myself. Look you, honest burghers and good neighbours of +Perth; you may have thought me unapt to be moved by light complaints and +trivial breaches of your privileges, such as small trespasses on +your game, the barons’ followers playing football in the street, and +suchlike. But, by the soul of Thomas of Longueville, you shall not find +Patrick Charteris slothful in a matter of this importance. This hand,” + he continued, holding up the severed joint, “belongs to one who hath +worked no drudgery. We will put it in a way to be known and claimed of +the owner, if his comrades of the revel have but one spark of honour in +them. Hark you, Gerard; get me some half score of good men instantly to +horse, and let them take jack and spear. Meanwhile, neighbours, if +feud arise out of this, as is most likely, we must come to each other’s +support. If my poor house be attacked, how many men will you bring to my +support?” + +The burghers looked at Henry Gow, to whom they instinctively turned when +such matters were discussed. + +“I will answer,” said he, “for fifty good fellows to be assembled ere +the common bell has rung ten minutes; for a thousand, in the space of an +hour.” + +“It is well,” answered the gallant provost; “and in the case of need, +I will come to aid the Fair City with such men as I can make. And now, +good friends, let us to horse.” + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + If I know how to manage these affairs, + Thus thrust disorderly upon my hands, + Never believe me-- + + Richard II. + + +It was early in the afternoon of St. Valentine’s Day that the prior of +the Dominicans was engaged in discharge of his duties as confessor to +a penitent of no small importance. This was an elderly man, of a goodly +presence, a florid and healthful cheek, the under part of which was +shaded by a venerable white beard, which descended over his bosom. The +large and clear blue eyes, with the broad expanse of brow, expressed +dignity; but it was of a character which seemed more accustomed to +receive honours voluntarily paid than to enforce them when they were +refused. The good nature of the expression was so great as to approach +to defenceless simplicity or weakness of character, unfit, it might +be inferred, to repel intrusion or subdue resistance. Amongst the grey +locks of this personage was placed a small circlet or coronet of gold, +upon a blue fillet. His beads, which were large and conspicuous, were of +native gold, rudely enough wrought, but ornamented with Scottish pearls +of rare size and beauty. These were his only ornaments; and a long +crimson robe of silk, tied by a sash of the same colour, formed his +attire. His shrift being finished, he arose heavily from the embroidered +cushion upon which he kneeled during his confession, and, by the +assistance of a crutch headed staff of ebony, moved, lame and +ungracefully, and with apparent pain, to a chair of state, which, +surmounted by a canopy, was placed for his accommodation by the chimney +of the lofty and large apartment. + +This was Robert, third of that name, and the second of the ill fated +family of Stuart who filled the throne of Scotland. He had many virtues, +and was not without talent; but it was his great misfortune that, like +others of his devoted line, his merits were not of a kind suited to the +part which he was called upon to perform in life. The king of so fierce +a people as the Scots then were ought to have been warlike, prompt, and +active, liberal in rewarding services, strict in punishing crimes, one +whose conduct should make him feared as well as beloved. The qualities +of Robert the Third were the reverse of all these. In youth he had +indeed seen battles; but, without incurring disgrace, he had never +manifested the chivalrous love of war and peril, or the eager desire to +distinguish himself by dangerous achievements, which that age expected +from all who were of noble birth and had claims to authority. + +Besides, his military career was very short. Amidst the tumult of a +tournament, the young Earl of Carrick, such was then his title, received +a kick from the horse of Sir James Douglas of Dalkeith, in consequence +of which he was lame for the rest of his life, and absolutely disabled +from taking share either in warfare or in the military sports and +tournaments which were its image. As Robert had never testified much +predilection for violent exertion, he did not probably much regret +the incapacities which exempted him from these active scenes. But his +misfortune, or rather its consequences, lowered him in the eyes of +a fierce nobility and warlike people. He was obliged to repose the +principal charge of his affairs now in one member, now in another, of +his family, sometimes with the actual rank, and always with the power, +of lieutenant general of the kingdom. His paternal affection would have +induced him to use the assistance of his eldest son, a young man of +spirit and talent, whom in fondness he had created Duke of Rothsay, in +order to give him the present possession of a dignity next to that of +the throne. But the young prince’s head was too giddy, and his hand +too feeble to wield with dignity the delegated sceptre. However fond of +power, pleasure was the Prince’s favourite pursuit; and the court was +disturbed, and the country scandalised, by the number of fugitive amours +and extravagant revels practised by him who should have set an example +of order and regularity to the youth of the kingdom. + +The license and impropriety of the Duke of Rothsay’s conduct was the +more reprehensible in the public view, that he was a married person; +although some, over whom his youth, gaiety, grace, and good temper had +obtained influence, were of opinion that an excuse for his libertinism +might be found in the circumstances of the marriage itself. They +reminded each other that his nuptials were entirely conducted by his +uncle, the Duke of Albany, by whose counsels the infirm and timid King +was much governed at the time, and who had the character of managing the +temper of his brother and sovereign, so as might be most injurious to +the interests and prospects of the young heir. By Albany’s machinations +the hand of the heir apparent was in a manner put up to sale, as it was +understood publicly that the nobleman in Scotland who should give the +largest dower to his daughter might aspire to raise her to the bed of +the Duke of Rothsay. + +In the contest for preference which ensued, George Earl of Dunbar and +March, who possessed, by himself or his vassals, a great part of the +eastern frontier, was preferred to other competitors; and his daughter +was, with the mutual goodwill of the young couple, actually contracted +to the Duke of Rothsay. + +But there remained a third party to be consulted, and that was no other +than the tremendous Archibald Earl of Douglas, terrible alike from the +extent of his lands, from the numerous offices and jurisdictions with +which he was invested, and from his personal qualities of wisdom and +valour, mingled with indomitable pride, and more than the feudal love +of vengeance. The Earl was also nearly related to the throne, having +married the eldest daughter of the reigning monarch. + +After the espousals of the Duke of Rothsay with the Earl of March’s +daughter, Douglas, as if he had postponed his share in the negotiation +to show that it could not be concluded with any one but himself, entered +the lists to break off the contract. He tendered a larger dower with his +daughter Marjory than the Earl of March had proffered; and, secured by +his own cupidity and fear of the Douglas, Albany exerted his influence +with the timid monarch till he was prevailed upon to break the contract +with the Earl of March, and wed his son to Marjory Douglas, a woman whom +Rothsay could not love. No apology was offered to the Earl of March, +excepting that the espousals betwixt the Prince and Elizabeth of Dunbar +had not been approved by the States of Parliament, and that till such +ratification the contract was liable to be broken off. The Earl deeply +resented the wrong done to himself and his daughter, and was generally +understood to study revenge, which his great influence on the English +frontier was likely to place within his power. + +In the mean time, the Duke of Rothsay, incensed at the sacrifice of his +hand and his inclinations to this state intrigue, took his own mode +of venting his displeasure, by neglecting his wife, contemning his +formidable and dangerous father in law, and showing little respect +to the authority of the King himself, and none whatever to the +remonstrances of Albany, his uncle, whom he looked upon as his confirmed +enemy. + +Amid these internal dissensions of his family, which extended themselves +through his councils and administration, introducing everywhere the +baneful effects of uncertainty and disunion, the feeble monarch had +for some time been supported by the counsels of his queen, Annabella, a +daughter of the noble house of Drummond, gifted with a depth of sagacity +and firmness of mind which exercised some restraint over the levities +of a son who respected her, and sustained on many occasions the wavering +resolution of her royal husband. But after her death the imbecile +sovereign resembled nothing so much as a vessel drifted from her +anchors, and tossed about amidst contending currents. Abstractedly +considered, Robert might be said to doat upon his son, to entertain +respect and awe for the character of his brother Albany, so much more +decisive than his own, to fear the Douglas with a terror which was +almost instinctive; and to suspect the constancy of the bold but fickle +Earl of March. But his feelings towards these various characters were +so mixed and complicated, that from time to time they showed entirely +different from what they really were; and according to the interest +which had been last exerted over his flexible mind, the King would +change from an indulgent to a strict and even cruel father, from a +confiding to a jealous brother, or from a benignant and bountiful to a +grasping and encroaching sovereign. Like the chameleon, his feeble mind +reflected the colour of that firmer character upon which at the time he +reposed for counsel and assistance. And when he disused the advice +of one of his family, and employed the counsel of another, it was no +unwonted thing to see a total change of measures, equally disrespectable +to the character of the King and dangerous to the safety of the state. + +It followed as a matter of course that the clergy of the Catholic Church +acquired influence over a man whose intentions were so excellent, but +whose resolutions were so infirm. Robert was haunted, not only with a +due sense of the errors he had really committed, but with the tormenting +apprehensions of those peccadilloes which beset a superstitious +and timid mind. It is scarce necessary, therefore, to add, that the +churchmen of various descriptions had no small influence over this +easy tempered prince, though, indeed, theirs was, at that period, an +influence from which few or none escaped, however resolute and firm of +purpose in affairs of a temporal character. We now return from this long +digression, without which what we have to relate could not perhaps have +been well understood. + +The King had moved with ungraceful difficulty to the cushioned chair +which, under a state or canopy, stood prepared for his accommodation, +and upon which he sank down with enjoyment, like an indolent man, who +had been for some time confined to a constrained position. When seated, +the gentle and venerable looks of the good old man showed benevolence. +The prior, who now remained standing opposite to the royal seat, with +an air of deep deference which cloaked the natural haughtiness of his +carriage, was a man betwixt forty and fifty years of age, but every one +of whose hairs still retained their natural dark colour. Acute features +and a penetrating look attested the talents by which the venerable +father had acquired his high station in the community over which he +presided; and, we may add, in the councils of the kingdom, in whose +service they were often exercised. The chief objects which his education +and habits taught him to keep in view were the extension of the dominion +and the wealth of the church, and the suppression of heresy, both of +which he endeavoured to accomplish by all the means which his situation +afforded him. But he honoured his religion by the sincerity of his own +belief, and by the morality which guided his conduct in all ordinary +situations. The faults of the Prior Anselm, though they led him into +grievous error, and even cruelty, were perhaps rather those of his age +and profession; his virtues were his own. + +“These things done,” said the King, “and the lands I have mentioned +secured by my gift to this monastery, you are of opinion, father, that +I stand as much in the good graces of our Holy Mother Church as to term +myself her dutiful son?” + +“Surely, my liege,” said the prior; “would to God that all her children +brought to the efficacious sacrament of confession as deep a sense of +their errors, and as much will to make amends for them. But I speak +these comforting words, my liege, not to Robert King of Scotland, but +only to my humble and devout penitent, Robert Stuart of Carrick.” + +“You surprise me, father,” answered the King: “I have little check on my +conscience for aught that I have done in my kingly office, seeing that +I use therein less mine own opinion than the advice of the most wise +counsellors.” + +“Even therein lieth the danger, my liege,” replied the prior. “The Holy +Father recognises in your Grace, in every thought, word, and action, an +obedient vassal of the Holy Church. But there are perverse counsellors, +who obey the instinct of their wicked hearts, while they abuse the good +nature and ductility of their monarch, and, under colour of serving his +temporal interests, take steps which are prejudicial to those that last +to eternity.” + +King Robert raised himself upright in his chair, and assumed an air of +authority, which, though it well became him, he did not usually display. + +“Prior Anselm,” he said, “if you have discovered anything in my conduct, +whether as a king or a private individual, which may call down such +censures as your words intimate, it is your duty to speak plainly, and I +command you to do so.” + +“My liege, you shall be obeyed,” answered the prior, with an inclination +of the body. Then raising himself up, and assuming the dignity of his +rank in the church, he said, “Hear from me the words of our Holy Father +the Pope, the successor of St. Peter, to whom have descended the keys, +both to bind and to unloose. ‘Wherefore, O Robert of Scotland, hast +thou not received into the see of St. Andrews Henry of Wardlaw, whom the +Pontiff hath recommended to fill that see? Why dost thou make profession +with thy lips of dutiful service to the Church, when thy actions +proclaim the depravity and disobedience of thy inward soul? Obedience is +better than sacrifice.” + +“Sir prior,” said the monarch, bearing himself in a manner not +unbecoming his lofty rank, “we may well dispense with answering you upon +this subject, being a matter which concerns us and the estates of our +kingdom, but does not affect our private conscience.” + +“Alas,” said the prior, “and whose conscience will it concern at the +last day? Which of your belted lords or wealthy burgesses will then step +between their king and the penalty which he has incurred by following of +their secular policy in matters ecclesiastical? Know, mighty king, that, +were all the chivalry of thy realm drawn up to shield thee from the red +levin bolt, they would be consumed like scorched parchment before the +blaze of a furnace.” + +“Good father prior,” said the King, on whose timorous conscience this +kind of language seldom failed to make an impression, “you surely argue +over rigidly in this matter. It was during my last indisposition, while +the Earl of Douglas held, as lieutenant general, the regal authority in +Scotland, that the obstruction to the reception of the Primate unhappily +arose. Do not, therefore, tax me with what happened when I was unable to +conduct the affairs of the kingdom, and compelled to delegate my power +to another.” + +“To your subject, sire, you have said enough,” replied the prior. “But, +if the impediment arose during the lieutenancy of the Earl of Douglas, +the legate of his Holiness will demand wherefore it has not been +instantly removed, when the King resumed in his royal hands the reins +of authority? The Black Douglas can do much--more perhaps than a subject +should have power to do in the kingdom of his sovereign; but he cannot +stand betwixt your Grace and your own conscience, or release you from +the duties to the Holy Church which your situation as a king imposes +upon you.” + +“Father,” said Robert, somewhat impatiently, “you are over peremptory +in this matter, and ought at least to wait a reasonable season, until +we have time to consider of some remedy. Such disputes have happened +repeatedly in the reigns of our predecessors; and our royal and blessed +ancestor, St. David, did not resign his privileges as a monarch +without making a stand in their defence, even though he was involved in +arguments with the Holy Father himself.” + +“And therein was that great and good king neither holy nor saintly,” + said the prior “and therefore was he given to be a rout and a spoil to +his enemies, when he raised his sword against the banners of St. Peter, +and St. Paul, and St. John of Beverley, in the war, as it is still +called, of the Standard. Well was it for him that, like his namesake, +the son of Jesse, his sin was punished upon earth, and not entered +against him at the long and dire day of accounting.” + +“Well, good prior--well--enough of this for the present. The Holy See +shall, God willing, have no reason to complain of me. I take Our Lady +to witness, I would not for the crown I wear take the burden of wronging +our Mother Church. We have ever feared that the Earl of Douglas kept his +eyes too much fixed on the fame and the temporalities of this frail and +passing life to feel altogether as he ought the claims that refer to a +future world.” + +“It is but lately,” said the prior, “that he hath taken up forcible +quarters in the monastery of Aberbrothock, with his retinue of a +thousand followers; and the abbot is compelled to furnish him with +all he needs for horse and man, which the Earl calls exercising the +hospitality which he hath a right to expect from the foundation to which +his ancestors were contributors. Certain, it were better to return +to the Douglas his lands than to submit to such exaction, which more +resembles the masterful license of Highland thiggers and sorners [sturdy +beggars], than the demeanour of a Christian baron.” + +“The Black Douglasses,” said the King, with a sigh, “are a race which +will not be said nay. But, father prior, I am myself, it may be, an +intruder of this kind; for my sojourning hath been long among you, and +my retinue, though far fewer than the Douglas’s, are nevertheless enough +to cumber you for their daily maintenance; and though our order is to +send out purveyors to lessen your charge as much as may be, yet if there +be inconvenience, it were fitting we should remove in time.” + +“Now, Our Lady forbid!” said the prior, who, if desirous of power, had +nothing meanly covetous in his temper, but was even magnificent in his +generous kindness; “certainly the Dominican convent can afford to her +sovereign the hospitality which the house offers to every wanderer of +whatever condition who will receive it at the hands of the poor servants +of our patron. No, my royal liege; come with ten times your present +train, they shall neither want a grain of oats, a pile of straw, a +morsel of bread, nor an ounce of food which our convent can supply them. +It is one thing to employ the revenues of the church, which are so much +larger than monks ought to need or wish for, in the suitable and dutiful +reception of your royal Majesty, and another to have it wrenched from +us by the hands of rude and violent men, whose love of rapine is only +limited by the extent of their power.” + +“It is well, good prior,” said the King; “and now to turn our thoughts +for an instant from state affairs, can thy reverence inform us how the +good citizens of Perth have begun their Valentine’s Day? Gallantly, and +merrily, and peacefully; I hope.” + +“For gallantly, my liege, I know little of such qualities. For +peacefully, there were three or four men, two cruelly wounded, came this +morning before daylight to ask the privilege of girth and sanctuary, +pursued by a hue and cry of citizens in their shirts, with clubs, bills, +Lochaber axes, and two handed swords, crying ‘Kill and slay,’ each +louder than another. Nay, they were not satisfied when our porter and +watch told them that those they pursued had taken refuge in the galilee +of the church, but continued for some minutes clamouring and striking +upon the postern door, demanding that the men who had offended should +be delivered up to them. I was afraid their rude noise might have broken +your Majesty’s rest, and raised some surprise.” + +“My rest might have been broken,” said the monarch; “but that sounds of +violence should have occasioned surprise--Alas! reverend father, there +is in Scotland only one place where the shriek of the victim and threats +of the oppressor are not heard, and that, father, is--the grave.” + +The prior stood in respectful silence, sympathising with the feelings of +a monarch whose tenderness of heart suited so ill with the condition and +manners of his people. + +“And what became of the fugitives?” asked Robert, after a minute’s +pause. + +“Surely, sire,” said the prior, “they were dismissed, as they desired +to be, before daylight; and after we had sent out to be assured that no +ambush of their enemies watched them in the vicinity, they went their +way in peace.” + +“You know nothing,” inquired the King, “who the men were, or the cause +of their taking refuge with you?” + +“The cause,” said the prior, “was a riot with the townsmen; but how +arising is not known to us. The custom of our house is to afford +twenty-four hours of uninterrupted refuge in the sanctuary of St. +Dominic, without asking any question at the poor unfortunates who have +sought relief there. If they desire to remain for a longer space, the +cause of their resorting to sanctuary must be put upon the register of +the convent; and, praised be our holy saint, many persons escape the +weight of the law by this temporary protection, whom, did we know the +character of their crimes, we might have found ourselves obliged to +render up to their pursuers and persecutors.” + +As the prior spoke, a dim idea occurred to the monarch, that the +privilege of sanctuary thus peremptorily executed must prove a severe +interruption to the course of justice through his realm. But he repelled +the feeling, as if it had been a suggestion of Satan, and took care that +not a single word should escape to betray to the churchman that such a +profane thought had ever occupied his bosom; on the contrary, he hasted +to change the subject. + +“The sun,” he said, “moves slowly on the index. After the painful +information you have given me, I expected the Lords of my Council ere +now, to take order with the ravelled affairs of this unhappy riot. Evil +was the fortune which gave me rule over a people among whom it seems +to me I am in my own person the only man who desires rest and +tranquillity!” + +“The church always desires peace and tranquillity,” added the prior, +not suffering even so general a proposition to escape the poor king’s +oppressed mind without insisting on a saving clause for the church’s +honour. + +“We meant nothing else,” said Robert. “But, father prior, you will +allow that the church, in quelling strife, as is doubtless her purpose, +resembles the busy housewife, who puts in motion the dust which she +means to sweep away.” + +To this remark the prior would have made some reply, but the door of +the apartment was opened, and a gentleman usher announced the Duke of +Albany. + + + +CHAPTER X. + + Gentle friend, + Chide not her mirth, who was sad yesterday, + And may be so tomorrow. + + JOANNA BAILLIE. + + +The Duke of Albany was, like his royal brother, named Robert. The +Christian name of the latter had been John until he was called to the +throne; when the superstition of the times observed that the name +had been connected with misfortune in the lives and reigns of John of +England, John of France, and John Baliol of Scotland. It was therefore +agreed that, to elude the bad omen, the new king should assume the name +of Robert, rendered dear to Scotland by the recollections of Robert +Bruce. We mention this to account for the existence of two brothers of +the same Christian name in one family, which was not certainly an usual +occurrence, more than at the present day. + +Albany, also an aged man, was not supposed to be much more disposed for +warlike enterprise than the King himself. But if he had not courage, he +had wisdom to conceal and cloak over his want of that quality, which, +once suspected, would have ruined all the plans which his ambition had +formed. He had also pride enough to supply, in extremity, the want +of real valour, and command enough over his nerves to conceal their +agitation. In other respects, he was experienced in the ways of courts, +calm, cool, and crafty, fixing upon the points which he desired to +attain, while they were yet far removed, and never losing sight of them, +though the winding paths in which he trode might occasionally seem to +point to a different direction. In his person he resembled the King, for +he was noble and majestic both in stature and countenance. But he had +the advantage of his elder brother, in being unencumbered with any +infirmity, and in every respect lighter and more active. His dress was +rich and grave, as became his age and rank, and, like his royal brother, +he wore no arms of any kind, a case of small knives supplying at his +girdle the place usually occupied by a dagger in absence of a sword. + +At the Duke’s entrance the prior, after making an obeisance, +respectfully withdrew to a recess in the apartment, at some distance +from the royal seat, in order to leave the conversation of the brothers +uncontrolled by the presence of a third person. It is necessary to +mention, that the recess was formed by a window; placed in the inner +front of the monastic buildings, called the palace, from its being the +frequent residence of the Kings of Scotland, but which was, unless on +such occasions, the residence of the prior or abbot. The window +was placed over the principal entrance to the royal apartments, and +commanded a view of the internal quadrangle of the convent, formed on +the right hand by the length of the magnificent church, on the left by +a building containing the range of cellars, with the refectory, chapter +house, and other conventual apartments rising above them, for such +existed altogether independent of the space occupied by King Robert and +his attendants; while a fourth row of buildings, showing a noble +outward front to the rising sun, consisted of a large hospitium, for +the reception of strangers and pilgrims, and many subordinate offices, +warehouses, and places of accommodation, for the ample stores which +supplied the magnificent hospitality of the Dominican fathers. A lofty +vaulted entrance led through this eastern front into the quadrangle, +and was precisely opposite to the window at which Prior Anselm stood, so +that he could see underneath the dark arch, and observe the light which +gleamed beneath it from the eastern and open portal; but, owing to the +height to which he was raised, and the depth of the vaulted archway, his +eye could but indistinctly reach the opposite and extended portal. It is +necessary to notice these localities. + +We return to the conversation between the princely relatives. + +“My dear brother,” said the King, raising the Duke of Albany, as +he stooped to kiss his hand--“my dear, dear brother, wherefore this +ceremonial? Are we not both sons of the same Stuart of Scotland and of +the same Elizabeth More?” + +“I have not forgot that it is so,” said Albany, arising; “but I must not +omit, in the familiarity of the brother, the respect that is due to the +king.” + +“Oh, true--most true, Robin,” answered the King. “The throne is like a +lofty and barren rock, upon which flower or shrub can never take root. +All kindly feelings, all tender affections, are denied to a monarch. +A king must not fold a brother to his heart--he dare not give way to +fondness for a son.” + +“Such, in some respects, is the doom of greatness, sire,” answered +Albany; “but Heaven, who removed to some distance from your Majesty’s +sphere the members of your own family, has given you a whole people to +be your children.” + +“Alas! Robert,” answered the monarch, “your heart is better framed for +the duties of a sovereign than mine. I see from the height at which fate +has placed me that multitude whom you call my children. I love them, I +wish them well; but they are many, and they are distant from me. Alas! +even the meanest of them has some beloved being whom he can clasp to +his heart, and upon whom he can lavish the fondness of a father. But all +that a king can give to a people is a smile, such as the sun bestows +on the snowy peaks of the Grampian mountains, as distant and as +ineffectual. Alas, Robin! our father used to caress us, and if he chid +us it was with a tone of kindness; yet he was a monarch as well as I, +and wherefore should not I be permitted, like him, to reclaim my poor +prodigal by affection as well as severity?” + +“Had affection never been tried, my liege,” replied Albany, in the tone +of one who delivers sentiments which he grieves to utter, “means of +gentleness ought assuredly to be first made use of. Your Grace is best +judge whether they have been long enough persevered in, and whether +those of discouragement and restraint may not prove a more effectual +corrective. It is exclusively in your royal power to take what measures +with the Duke of Rothsay you think will be most available to his +ultimate benefit, and that of the kingdom.” + +“This is unkind, brother,” said the King: “you indicate the painful path +which you would have me pursue, yet you offer me not your support in +treading it.” + +“My support your Grace may ever command,” replied Albany; “but would it +become me, of all men on earth, to prompt to your Grace severe measures +against your son and heir? Me, on whom, in case of failure--which Heaven +forefend!--of your Grace’s family, this fatal crown might descend? Would +it not be thought and said by the fiery March and the haughty Douglas, +that Albany had sown dissension between his royal brother and the heir +to the Scottish throne, perhaps to clear the way for the succession of +his own family? No, my liege, I can sacrifice my life to your service, +but I must not place my honour in danger.” + +“You say true, Robin.--you say very true,” replied the King, hastening +to put his own interpretation upon his brother’s words. “We must not +suffer these powerful and dangerous lords to perceive that there is +aught like discord in the royal family. That must be avoided of all +things: and therefore we will still try indulgent measures, in hopes +of correcting the follies of Rothsay. I behold sparks of hope in +him, Robin, from time to time, that are well worth cherishing. He is +young--very young--a prince, and in the heyday of his blood. We will +have patience with him, like a good rider with a hot tempered horse. Let +him exhaust this idle humor, and no one will be better pleased with +him than yourself. You have censured me in your kindness for being too +gentle, too retired; Rothsay has no such defects.” + +“I will pawn my life he has not,” replied Albany, drily. + +“And he wants not reflection as well as spirit,” continued the poor +king, pleading the cause of his son to his brother. “I have sent for him +to attend council today, and we shall see how he acquits himself of +his devoir. You yourself allow, Robin, that the Prince wants neither +shrewdness nor capacity for affairs, when he is in the humor to consider +them.” + +“Doubtless, he wants neither, my liege,” replied Albany, “when he is in +the humor to consider them.” + +“I say so,” answered the King; “and am heartily glad that you agree with +me, Robin, in giving this poor hapless young man another trial. He has +no mother now to plead his cause with an incensed father. That must be +remembered, Albany.” + +“I trust,” said Albany, “the course which is most agreeable to your +Grace’s feelings will also prove the wisest and the best.” + +The Duke well saw the simple stratagem by which the King was +endeavouring to escape from the conclusions of his reasoning, and +to adopt, under pretence of his sanction, a course of proceeding the +reverse of what it best suited him to recommend. But though he saw he +could not guide his brother to the line of conduct he desired, he would +not abandon the reins, but resolved to watch for a fitter opportunity of +obtaining the sinister advantages to which new quarrels betwixt the King +and Prince were soon, he thought, likely to give rise. + +In the mean time, King Robert, afraid lest his brother should resume +the painful subject from which he had just escaped, called aloud to the +prior of the Dominicans, “I hear the trampling of horse. Your station +commands the courtyard, reverend father. Look from the window, and tell +us who alights. Rothsay, is it not?” + +“The noble Earl of March, with his followers,” said the prior. + +“Is he strongly accompanied?” said the King. “Do his people enter the +inner gate?” + +At the same moment, Albany whispered the King, “Fear nothing, the +Brandanes of your household are under arms.” + +The King nodded thanks, while the prior from the window answered the +question he had put. “The Earl is attended by two pages, two gentlemen, +and four grooms. One page follows him up the main staircase, bearing his +lordship’s sword. The others halt in the court, and--Benedicite, how is +this? Here is a strolling glee woman, with her viol, preparing to sing +beneath the royal windows, and in the cloister of the Dominicans, as +she might in the yard of an hostelrie! I will have her presently thrust +forth.” + +“Not so, father,” said the King. “Let me implore grace for the poor +wanderer. The joyous science, as they call it, which they profess, +mingles sadly with the distresses to which want and calamity condemn a +strolling race; and in that they resemble a king, to whom all men cry, +‘All hail!’ while he lacks the homage and obedient affection which +the poorest yeoman receives from his family. Let the wanderer remain +undisturbed, father; and let her sing if she will to the yeomen and +troopers in the court; it will keep them from quarrelling with each +other, belonging, as they do, to such unruly and hostile masters.” + +So spoke the well meaning and feeble minded prince, and the prior bowed +in acquiescence. As he spoke, the Earl of March entered the hall of +audience, dressed in the ordinary riding garb of the time, and wearing +his poniard. He had left in the anteroom the page of honour who carried +his sword. The Earl was a well built, handsome man, fair complexioned, +with a considerable profusion of light coloured hair, and bright +blue eyes, which gleamed like those of a falcon. He exhibited in his +countenance, otherwise pleasing, the marks of a hasty and irritable +temper, which his situation as a high and powerful feudal lord had given +him but too many opportunities of indulging. + +“I am glad to see you, my Lord of March,” said the King, with a +gracious inclination of his person. “You have been long absent from our +councils.” + +“My liege,” answered March with a deep reverence to the King, and a +haughty and formal inclination to the Duke of Albany, “if I have been +absent from your Grace’s councils, it is because my place has been +supplied by more acceptable, and, I doubt not, abler, counsellors. And +now I come but to say to your Highness, that the news from the English +frontier make it necessary that I should return without delay to my +own estates. Your Grace has your wise and politic brother, my Lord of +Albany, with whom to consult, and the mighty and warlike Earl of Douglas +to carry your counsels into effect. I am of no use save in my own +country; and thither, with your Highness’s permission, I am purposed +instantly to return, to attend my charge, as Warden of the Eastern +Marches.” + +“You will not deal so unkindly with us, cousin,” replied the gentle +monarch. “Here are evil tidings on the wind. These unhappy Highland +clans are again breaking into general commotion, and the tranquillity +even of our own court requires the wisest of our council to advise, and +the bravest of our barons to execute, what may be resolved upon. The +descendant of Thomas Randolph will not surely abandon the grandson of +Robert Bruce at such a period as this?” + +“I leave with him the descendant of the far famed James of Douglas,” + answered March. “It is his lordship’s boast that he never puts foot in +stirrup but a thousand horse mount with him as his daily lifeguard, and +I believe the monks of Aberbrothock will swear to the fact. Surely, with +all the Douglas’s chivalry, they are fitter to restrain a disorderly +swarm of Highland kerne than I can be to withstand the archery of +England and power of Henry Hotspur? And then, here is his Grace of +Albany, so jealous in his care of your Highness’s person, that he +calls your Brandanes to take arms when a dutiful subject like myself +approaches the court with a poor half score of horse, the retinue of +the meanest of the petty barons who own a tower and a thousand acres +of barren heath. When such precautions are taken where there is not the +slightest chance of peril--since I trust none was to be apprehended from +me--your royal person will surely be suitably guarded in real danger.” + +“My Lord of March,” said the Duke of Albany, “the meanest of the barons +of whom you speak put their followers in arms even when they receive +their dearest and nearest friends within the iron gate of their castle; +and, if it please Our Lady, I will not care less for the King’s person +than they do for their own. The Brandanes are the King’s immediate +retainers and household servants, and an hundred of them is but a small +guard round his Grace, when yourself, my lord, as well as the Earl of +Douglas, often ride with ten times the number.” + +“My Lord Duke,” replied March, “when the service of the King requires +it, I can ride with ten times as many horse as your Grace has named; +but I have never done so either traitorously to entrap the King nor +boastfully to overawe other nobles.” + +“Brother Robert,” said the King, ever anxious to be a peacemaker, “you +do wrong even to intimate a suspicion of my Lord of March. And you, +cousin of March, misconstrue my brother’s caution. But hark--to divert +this angry parley--I hear no unpleasing touch of minstrelsy. You know +the gay science, my Lord of March, and love it well. Step to yonder +window, beside the holy prior, at whom we make no question touching +secular pleasures, and you will tell us if the music and play be worth +listening to. The notes are of France, I think. My brother of Albany’s +judgment is not worth a cockle shell in such matters, so you, cousin, +must report your opinion whether the poor glee maiden deserves +recompense. Our son and the Douglas will presently be here, and then, +when our council is assembled, we will treat of graver matters.” + +With something like a smile on his proud brow, March withdrew into the +recess of the window, and stood there in silence beside the prior, like +one who, while he obeyed the King’s command, saw through and despised +the timid precaution which it implied, as an attempt to prevent the +dispute betwixt Albany and himself. The tune, which was played upon a +viol, was gay and sprightly in the commencement, with a touch of the +wildness of the troubadour music. But, as it proceeded, the faltering +tones of the instrument, and of the female voice which accompanied it, +became plaintive and interrupted, as if choked by the painful feelings +of the minstrel. + +The offended earl, whatever might be his judgment in such matters on +which the King had complimented him, paid, it may be supposed, little +attention to the music of the female minstrel. His proud heart was +struggling between the allegiance he owed his sovereign, as well as +the love he still found lurking in his bosom for the person of his well +natured king, and a desire of vengeance arising out of his disappointed +ambition, and the disgrace done to him by the substitution of Marjory +Douglas to be bride of the heir apparent, instead of his betrothed +daughter. March had the vices and virtues of a hasty and uncertain +character, and even now, when he came to bid the King adieu, with the +purpose of renouncing his allegiance as soon as he reached his own +feudal territories, he felt unwilling, and almost unable, to resolve +upon a step so criminal and so full of peril. It was with such dangerous +cogitations that he was occupied during the beginning of the glee +maiden’s lay; but objects which called his attention powerfully, as the +songstress proceeded, affected the current of his thoughts, and riveted +them on what was passing in the courtyard of the monastery. The song was +in the Provencal dialect, well understood as the language of poetry +in all the courts of Europe, and particularly in Scotland. It was more +simply turned, however, than was the general cast of the sirventes, +and rather resembled the lai of a Norman minstrel. It may be translated +thus: + + The Lay of Poor Louise. + + Ah, poor Louise! The livelong day + She roams from cot to castle gay; + And still her voice and viol say, + Ah, maids, beware the woodland way; + Think on Louise. + + Ah, poor Louise! The sun was high; + It smirch’d her cheek, it dimm’d her eye. + The woodland walk was cool and nigh, + Where birds with chiming streamlets vie + To cheer Louise. + + Ah, poor Louise! The savage bear + Made ne’er that lovely grove his lair; + The wolves molest not paths so fair. + But better far had such been there + For poor Louise. + + Ah, poor Louise! In woody wold + She met a huntsman fair and bold; + His baldrick was of silk and gold, + And many a witching tale he told + To poor Louise. + + Ah, poor Louise! Small cause to pine + Hadst thou for treasures of the mine; + For peace of mind, that gift divine, + And spotless innocence, were thine. + Ah, poor Louise! + + Ah, poor Louise! Thy treasure’s reft. + I know not if by force or theft, + Or part by violence, part by gift; + But misery is all that’s left + To poor Louise, + + Let poor Louise some succour have! + She will not long your bounty crave, + Or tire the gay with warning stave; + For Heaven has grace, and earth a grave + For poor Louise. + +The song was no sooner finished than, anxious lest the dispute should be +revived betwixt his brother and the Earl of March, King Robert called to +the latter, “What think you of the minstrelsy, my lord? Methinks, as I +heard it even at this distance, it was a wild and pleasing lay.” + +“My judgment is not deep my lord; but the singer may dispense with +my approbation, since she seems to have received that of his Grace of +Rothsay, the best judge in Scotland.” + +“How!” said the King in alarm; “is my son below?” + +“He is sitting on horseback by the glee maiden,” said March, with a +malicious smile on his cheek, “apparently as much interested by her +conversation as her music.” + +“How is this, father prior?” said the King. + +But the prior drew back from the lattice. “I have no will to see, my +lord, things which it would pain me to repeat.” + +“How is all this?” said the King, who coloured deeply, and seemed about +to rise from his chair; but changed his mind, as if unwilling, perhaps, +to look upon some unbecoming prank of the wild young prince, which he +might not have had heart to punish with necessary severity. The Earl +of March seemed to have a pleasure in informing him of that of which +doubtless he desired to remain ignorant. + +“My liege,” he cried, “this is better and better. The glee maiden has +not only engaged the ear of the Prince of Scotland, as well as of every +groom and trooper in the courtyard, but she has riveted the attention of +the Black Douglas, whom we have not known as a passionate admirer of +the gay science. But truly, I do not wonder at his astonishment, for the +Prince has honoured the fair professor of song and viol with a kiss of +approbation.” + +“How!” cried the King, “is David of Rothsay trifling with a glee maiden, +and his wife’s father in presence? Go, my good father abbot, call the +Prince here instantly. Go, my dearest brother--” And when they had both +left the room, the King continued, “Go, good cousin of March; there will +be mischief, I am assured of it. I pray you go, cousin, and second my +lord prior’s prayers with my commands.” + +“You forget, my liege,” said March, with the voice of a deeply offended +person, “the father of Elizabeth of Dunbar were but an unfit intercessor +between the Douglas and his royal son in law.” + +“I crave your pardon, cousin,” said the gentle old man. “I own you have +had some wrong; but my Rothsay will be murdered--I must go myself.” + +But, as he arose precipitately from his chair, the poor king missed a +footstep, stumbled, and fell heavily to the ground, in such a manner +that, his head striking the corner of the seat from which he had risen, +he became for a minute insensible. The sight of the accident at once +overcame March’s resentment and melted his heart. He ran to the fallen +monarch, and replaced him in his seat, using, in the tenderest and most +respectful manner, such means as seemed most fit to recall animation. + +Robert opened his eyes, and gazed around with uncertainty. “What has +happened?--are we alone?--who is with us?” + +“Your dutiful subject, March,” replied the Earl. + +“Alone with the Earl of March!” repeated the King, his still disturbed +intellect receiving some alarm from the name of a powerful chief whom he +had reason to believe he had mortally offended. + +“Yes, my gracious liege, with poor George of Dunbar, of whom many have +wished your Majesty to think ill, though he will be found truer to your +royal person at the last than they will.” + +“Indeed, cousin, you have had too much wrong; and believe me, we shall +strive to redress--” + +“If your Grace thinks so, it may yet be righted,” interrupted the Earl, +catching at the hopes which his ambition suggested: “the Prince and +Marjory Douglas are nearly related--the dispensation from Rome was +informally granted--their marriage cannot be lawful--the Pope, who will +do much for so godly a prince, can set aside this unchristian union, in +respect of the pre-contract. Bethink you well, my liege,” continued +the Earl, kindling with a new train of ambitious thoughts, to which +the unexpected opportunity of pleading his cause personally had given +rise--“bethink you how you choose betwixt the Douglas and me. He is +powerful and mighty, I grant. But George of Dunbar wears the keys of +Scotland at his belt, and could bring an English army to the gates of +Edinburgh ere Douglas could leave the skirts of Carintable to oppose +them. Your royal son loves my poor deserted girl, and hates the haughty +Marjory of Douglas. Your Grace may judge the small account in which he +holds her by his toying with a common glee maiden even in the presence +of her father.” + +The King had hitherto listened to the Earl’s argument with the +bewildered feelings of a timid horseman, borne away by an impetuous +steed, whose course he can neither arrest nor direct. But the last words +awakened in his recollection the sense of his son’s immediate danger. + +“Oh, ay, most true--my son--the Douglas! Oh, my dear cousin, prevent +blood, and all shall be as you will. Hark, there is a tumult--that was +the clash of arms!” + +“By my coronet, by my knightly faith, it is true!” said the Earl, +looking from the window upon the inner square of the convent, now filled +with armed men and brandished weapons, and resounding with the clash +of armour. The deep vaulted entrance was crowded with warriors at its +farthest extremity, and blows seemed to be in the act of being exchanged +betwixt some who were endeavouring to shut the gate and others who +contended to press in. + +“I will go instantly,” said the Earl of March, “and soon quell this +sudden broil. Humbly I pray your Majesty to think on what I have had the +boldness to propose.” + +“I will--I will, fair cousin,” said the King, scarce knowing to what he +pledged himself; “do but prevent tumult and bloodshed!” + + + +CHAPTER XI + + Fair is the damsel, passing fair; + Sunny at distance gleams her smile; + Approach--the cloud of woful care + Hangs trembling in her eye the while. + + Lucinda, a Ballad. + + +We must here trace a little more correctly the events which had been +indistinctly seen from the window of the royal apartments, and yet more +indistinctly reported by those who witnessed them. The glee maiden, +already mentioned, had planted herself where a rise of two large broad +steps, giving access to the main gateway of the royal apartments, gained +her an advantage of a foot and a half in height over those in the +court, of whom she hoped to form an audience. She wore the dress of her +calling, which was more gaudy than rich, and showed the person more than +did the garb of other females. She had laid aside an upper mantle, and +a small basket which contained her slender stock of necessaries; and a +little French spaniel dog sat beside them, as their protector. An azure +blue jacket, embroidered with silver, and sitting close to the person, +was open in front, and showed several waistcoats of different coloured +silks, calculated to set off the symmetry of the shoulders and bosom, +and remaining open at the throat. A small silver chain worn around her +neck involved itself amongst these brilliant coloured waistcoats, and +was again produced from them; to display a medal of the same metal, +which intimated, in the name of some court or guild of minstrels, +the degree she had taken in the gay or joyous science. A small scrip, +suspended over her shoulders by a blue silk riband; hung on her left +side. + +Her sunny complexion, snow white teeth, brilliant black eyes, and raven +locks marked her country lying far in the south of France, and the arch +smile and dimpled chin bore the same character. Her luxuriant raven +locks, twisted around a small gold bodkin, were kept in their position +by a net of silk and gold. Short petticoats, deep laced with silver, to +correspond with the jacket, red stockings which were visible so high as +near the calf of the leg, and buskins of Spanish leather, completed her +adjustment, which, though far from new, had been saved as an untarnished +holiday suit, which much care had kept in good order. She seemed about +twenty-five years old; but perhaps fatigue and wandering had anticipated +the touch of time in obliterating the freshness of early youth. + +We have said the glee maiden’s manner was lively, and we may add that +her smile and repartee were ready. But her gaiety was assumed, as a +quality essentially necessary to her trade, of which it was one of the +miseries, that the professors were obliged frequently to cover an aching +heart with a compelled smile. This seemed to be the case with Louise, +who, whether she was actually the heroine of her own song, or whatever +other cause she might have for sadness, showed at times a strain of deep +melancholy thought, which interfered with and controlled the natural +flow of lively spirits which the practice of the joyous science +especially required. She lacked also, even in her gayest sallies, the +decided boldness and effrontery of her sisterhood, who were seldom at +a loss to retort a saucy jest, or turn the laugh against any who +interrupted or interfered with them. + +It may be here remarked, that it was impossible that this class of +women, very numerous in that age, could bear a character generally +respectable. They were, however, protected by the manners of the time; +and such were the immunities they possessed by the rights of chivalry, +that nothing was more rare than to hear of such errant damsels +sustaining injury or wrong, and they passed and repassed safely, where +armed travellers would probably have encountered a bloody opposition. +But though licensed and protected in honour of their tuneful art, the +wandering minstrels, male or female, like similar ministers to the +public amusement, the itinerant musicians, for instance, and strolling +comedians of our own day, led a life too irregular and precarious to +be accounted a creditable part of society. Indeed, among the stricter +Catholics, the profession was considered as unlawful. + +Such was the damsel who, with viol in hand, and stationed on the slight +elevation we have mentioned, stepped forward to the bystanders and +announced herself as a mistress of the gay science, duly qualified by a +brief from a Court of Love and Music held at Aix, in Provence, under the +countenance of the flower of chivalry, the gallant Count Aymer; who now +prayed that the cavaliers of merry Scotland, who were known over the +wide world for bravery and courtesy, would permit a poor stranger to try +whether she could afford them any amusement by her art. The love of song +was like the love of fight, a common passion of the age, which all +at least affected, whether they were actually possessed by it or no; +therefore the acquiescence in Louise’s proposal was universal. At +the same time, an aged, dark browed monk who was among the bystanders +thought it necessary to remind the glee maiden that, since she was +tolerated within these precincts, which was an unusual grace, he trusted +nothing would be sung or said inconsistent with the holy character of +the place. + +The glee maiden bent her head low, shook her sable locks, and crossed +herself reverentially, as if she disclaimed the possibility of such a +transgression, and then began the song of “Poor Louise.” which we gave +at length in the last chapter. + +Just as she commenced, she was stopped by a cry of “Room--room--place +for the Duke of Rothsay!” + +“Nay, hurry no man on my score,” said a gallant young cavalier, who +entered on a noble Arabian horse, which he managed with exquisite grace, +though by such slight handling of the reins, such imperceptible pressure +of the limbs and sway of the body, that to any eye save that of an +experienced horseman the animal seemed to be putting forth his paces for +his own amusement, and thus gracefully bearing forward a rider who was +too indolent to give himself any trouble about the matter. + +The Prince’s apparel, which was very rich, was put on with slovenly +carelessness. His form, though his stature was low, and his limbs +extremely slight, was elegant in the extreme; and his features no less +handsome. But there was on his brow a haggard paleness, which seemed +the effect of care or of dissipation, or of both these wasting causes +combined. His eyes were sunk and dim, as from late indulgence in revelry +on the preceding evening, while his cheek was inflamed with unnatural +red, as if either the effect of the Bacchanalian orgies had not passed +away from the constitution, or a morning draught had been resorted to, +in order to remove the effects of the night’s debauchery. + +Such was the Duke of Rothsay, and heir of the Scottish crown, a sight +at once of interest and compassion. All unbonneted and made way for him, +while he kept repeating carelessly, “No haste--no haste: I shall arrive +soon enough at the place I am bound for. How’s this--a damsel of the +joyous science? Ay, by St. Giles! and a comely wench to boot. Stand +still, my merry men; never was minstrelsy marred for me. A good voice, +by the mass! Begin me that lay again, sweetheart.” + +Louise did not know the person who addressed her; but the general +respect paid by all around, and the easy and indifferent manner in which +it was received, showed her she was addressed by a man of the highest +quality. She recommenced her lay, and sung her best accordingly; while +the young duke seemed thoughtful and rather affected towards the close +of the ditty. But it was not his habit to cherish such melancholy +affections. + +“This is a plaintive ditty, my nut brown maid,” said he, chucking the +retreating glee maiden under the chin, and detaining her by the collar +of her dress, which was not difficult, as he sat on horseback so close +to the steps on which she stood. “But I warrant me you have livelier +notes at will, ma bella tenebrosa; ay, and canst sing in bower as well +as wold, and by night as well as day.” + +“I am no nightingale, my lord,” said Louise, endeavouring to escape a +species of gallantry which ill suited the place and circumstances--a +discrepancy to which he who addressed it to her seemed contemptuously +indifferent. + +“What hast thou there, darling?” he added, removing his hold from her +collar to the scrip which she carried. + +Glad was Louise to escape his grasp, by slipping the knot of the riband, +and leaving the little bag in the Prince’s hand, as, retiring back +beyond his reach, she answered, “Nuts, my lord, of the last season.” + +The Prince pulled out a handful of nuts accordingly. “Nuts, child! they +will break thine ivory teeth, hurt thy pretty voice,” said Rothsay, +cracking one with his teeth, like a village schoolboy. + +“They are not the walnuts of my own sunny clime, my lord,” said Louise; +“but they hang low, and are within the reach of the poor.” + +“You shall have something to afford you better fare, poor wandering +ape,” said the Duke, in a tone in which feeling predominated more than +in the affected and contemptuous gallantry of his first address to the +glee maiden. + +At this moment, as he turned to ask an attendant for his purse, the +Prince encountered the stern and piercing look of a tall black man, +seated on a powerful iron grey horse, who had entered the court with +attendants while the Duke of Rothsay was engaged with Louise, and now +remained stupefied and almost turned to stone by his surprise and anger +at this unseemly spectacle. Even one who had never seen Archibald +Earl of Douglas, called the Grim, must have known him by his swart +complexion, his gigantic frame, his buff coat of bull’s hide, and his +air of courage, firmness, and sagacity, mixed with indomitable pride. +The loss of an eye in battle, though not perceptible at first sight, as +the ball of the injured organ remained similar to the other, gave yet a +stern, immovable glare to the whole aspect. + +The meeting of the royal son in law with his terrible stepfather +[father in law] was in circumstances which arrested the attention of all +present; and the bystanders waited the issue with silence and suppressed +breath, lest they should lose any part of what was to ensue. + +When the Duke of Rothsay saw the expression which occupied the stern +features of Douglas, and remarked that the Earl did not make the +least motion towards respectful, or even civil, salutation, he seemed +determined to show him how little respect he was disposed to pay to his +displeased looks. He took his purse from his chamberlain. + +“Here, pretty one,” he said, “I give thee one gold piece for the song +thou hast sung me, another for the nuts I have stolen from thee, and a +third for the kiss thou art about to give me. For know, my pretty one, +that when fair lips, and thine for fault of better may be called so, +make sweet music for my pleasure, I am sworn to St. Valentine to press +them to mine.” + +“My song is recompensed nobly,” said Louise, shrinking back; “my nuts +are sold to a good market; farther traffic, my lord, were neither +befitting you nor beseeming me.” + +“What! you coy it, my nymph of the highway?” said the Prince, +contemptuously. “Know damsel, that one asks you a grace who is unused to +denial.” + +“It is the Prince of Scotland--the Duke of Rothsay,” said the courtiers +around, to the terrified Louise, pressing forward the trembling young +woman; “you must not thwart his humor.” + +“But I cannot reach your lordship,” she said, timidly, “you sit so high +on horseback.” + +“If I must alight,” said Rothsay, “there shall be the heavier penalty. +What does the wench tremble for? Place thy foot on the toe of my boot, +give me hold of thy hand. Gallantly done!” He kissed her as she stood +thus suspended in the air, perched upon his foot and supported by his +hand; saying, “There is thy kiss, and there is my purse to pay it; and +to grace thee farther, Rothsay will wear thy scrip for the day.” + +He suffered the frightened girl to spring to the ground, and turned his +looks from her to bend them contemptuously on the Earl of Douglas, as +if he had said, “All this I do in despite of you and of your daughter’s +claims.” + +“By St. Bride of Douglas!” said the Earl, pressing towards the Prince, +“this is too much, unmannered boy, as void of sense as honour! You know +what considerations restrain the hand of Douglas, else had you never +dared--” + +“Can you play at spang cockle, my lord?” said the Prince, placing a nut +on the second joint of his forefinger, and spinning it off by a smart +application of the thumb. The nut struck on Douglas’s broad breast, +who burst out into a dreadful exclamation of wrath, inarticulate, but +resembling the growl of a lion in depth and sternness of expression. + +“I cry your pardon, most mighty lord,” said the Duke of Rothsay, +scornfully, while all around trembled; “I did not conceive my pellet +could have wounded you, seeing you wear a buff coat. Surely, I trust, it +did not hit your eye?” + +The prior, despatched by the King, as we have seen in the last chapter, +had by this time made way through the crowd, and laying hold on +Douglas’s rein, in a manner that made it impossible for him to advance, +reminded him that the Prince was the son of his sovereign; and the +husband of his daughter. + +“Fear not, sir prior,” said Douglas. “I despise the childish boy too +much to raise a finger against him. But I will return insult for insult. +Here, any of you who love the Douglas, spurn me this quean from the +monastery gates; and let her be so scourged that she may bitterly +remember to the last day of her life how she gave means to an +unrespective boy to affront the Douglas.” + +Four or five retainers instantly stepped forth to execute commands which +were seldom uttered in vain, and heavily would Louise have atoned for an +offence of which she was alike the innocent, unconscious, and unwilling +instrument, had not the Duke of Rothsay interfered. + +“Spurn the poor glee woman!” he said, in high indignation; “scourge +her for obeying my commands! Spurn thine own oppressed vassals, rude +earl--scourge thine own faulty hounds; but beware how you touch so much +as a dog that Rothsay hath patted on the head, far less a female whose +lips he hath kissed!” + +Before Douglas could give an answer, which would certainly have been +in defiance, there arose that great tumult at the outward gate of the +monastery, already noticed, and men both on horseback and on foot +began to rush headlong in, not actually fighting with each other, but +certainly in no peaceable manner. + +One of the contending parties, seemingly, were partizans of Douglas, +known by the cognizance of the bloody heart; the other were composed of +citizens of the town of Perth. It appeared they had been skirmishing in +earnest when without the gates, but, out of respect to the sanctified +ground, they lowered their weapons when they entered, and confined their +strife to a war of words and mutual abuse. + +The tumult had this good effect, that it forced asunder, by the weight +and press of numbers, the Prince and Douglas, at a moment when the +levity of the former and the pride of the latter were urging both to the +utmost extremity. But now peacemakers interfered on all sides. The prior +and the monks threw themselves among the multitude, and commanded +peace in the name of Heaven, and reverence to their sacred walls, +under penalty of excommunication; and their expostulations began to +be listened to. Albany, who was despatched by his royal brother at the +beginning of the fray, had not arrived till now on the scene of action. +He instantly applied himself to Douglas, and in his ear conjured him to +temper his passion. + +“By St. Bride of Douglas, I will be avenged!” said the Earl. “No man +shall brook life after he has passed an affront on Douglas.” + +“Why, so you may be avenged in fitting time,” said Albany; “but let it +not be said that, like a peevish woman, the Great Douglas could choose +neither time nor place for his vengeance. Bethink you, all that we have +laboured at is like to be upset by an accident. George of Dunbar hath +had the advantage of an audience with the old man; and though it lasted +but five minutes, I fear it may endanger the dissolution of your family +match, which we brought about with so much difficulty. The authority +from Rome has not yet been obtained.” + +“A toy!” answered Douglas, haughtily; “they dare not dissolve it.” + +“Not while Douglas is at large, and in possession of his power,” + answered Albany. “But, noble earl, come with me, and I will show you at +what disadvantage you stand.” + +Douglas dismounted, and followed his wily accomplice in silence. In a +lower hall they saw the ranks of the Brandanes drawn up, well armed in +caps of steel and shirts of mail. Their captain, making an obeisance to +Albany, seemed to desire to address him. + +“What now, MacLouis?” said the Duke. + +“We are informed the Duke of Rothsay has been insulted, and I can scarce +keep the Brandanes within door.” + +“Gallant MacLouis,” said Albany, “and you, my trusty Brandanes, the Duke +of Rothsay, my princely nephew, is as well as a hopeful gentleman can +be. Some scuffle there has been, but all is appeased.” + +He continued to draw the Earl of Douglas forward. “You see, my lord,” he +said in his ear, “that, if the word ‘arrest’ was to be once spoken, +it would be soon obeyed, and you are aware your attendants are few for +resistance.” + +Douglas seemed to acquiesce in the necessity of patience for the time. +“If my teeth,” he said, “should bite through my lips, I will be silent +till it is the hour to speak out.” + +George of March, in the meanwhile, had a more easy task of pacifying +the Prince. “My Lord of Rothsay,” he said, approaching him with grave +ceremony, “I need not tell you that you owe me something for reparation +of honour, though I blame not you personally for the breach of contract +which has destroyed the peace of my family. Let me conjure you, by +what observance your Highness may owe an injured man, to forego for the +present this scandalous dispute.” + +“My lord, I owe you much,” replied Rothsay; “but this haughty and all +controlling lord has wounded mine honour.” + +“My lord, I can but add, your royal father is ill--hath swooned with +terror for your Highness’s safety.” + +“Ill!” replied the Prince--“the kind, good old man swooned, said you, my +Lord of March? I am with him in an instant.” + +The Duke of Rothsay sprung from his saddle to the ground, and was +dashing into the palace like a greyhound, when a feeble grasp was +laid on his cloak, and the faint voice of a kneeling female exclaimed, +“Protection, my noble prince!--protection for a helpless stranger!” + +“Hands off, stroller!” said the Earl of March, thrusting the suppliant +glee maiden aside. + +But the gentler prince paused. “It is true,” he said, “I have brought +the vengeance of an unforgiving devil upon this helpless creature. O +Heaven! what a life, is mine, so fatal to all who approach me! What to +do in the hurry? She must not go to my apartments. And all my men are +such born reprobates. Ha! thou at mine elbow, honest Harry Smith? What +dost thou here?” + +“There has been something of a fight, my lord,” answered our +acquaintance the smith, “between the townsmen and the Southland loons +who ride with the Douglas; and we have swinged them as far as the abbey +gate.” + +“I am glad of it--I am glad of it. And you beat the knaves fairly?” + +“Fairly, does your Highness ask?” said Henry. “Why, ay! We were stronger +in numbers, to be sure; but no men ride better armed than those who +follow the Bloody Heart. And so in a sense we beat them fairly; for, as +your Highness knows, it is the smith who makes the man at arms, and men +with good weapons are a match for great odds.” + +While they thus talked, the Earl of March, who had spoken with some one +near the palace gate, returned in anxious haste. “My Lord Duke!--my Lord +Duke! your father is recovered, and if you haste not speedily, my Lord +of Albany and the Douglas will have possession of his royal ear.” + +“And if my royal father is recovered,” said the thoughtless Prince, “and +is holding, or about to hold, counsel with my gracious uncle and the +Earl of Douglas, it befits neither your lordship nor me to intrude till +we are summoned. So there is time for me to speak of my little business +with mine honest armourer here.” + +“Does your Highness take it so?” said the Earl, whose sanguine hopes of +a change of favour at court had been too hastily excited, and were as +speedily checked. “Then so let it be for George of Dunbar.” + +He glided away with a gloomy and displeased aspect; and thus out of the +two most powerful noblemen in Scotland, at a time when the aristocracy +so closely controlled the throne, the reckless heir apparent had made +two enemies--the one by scornful defiance and the other by careless +neglect. He heeded not the Earl of March’s departure, however, or rather +he felt relieved from his importunity. + +The Prince went on in indolent conversation with our armourer, whose +skill in his art had made him personally known to many of the great +lords about the court. + +“I had something to say to thee, Smith. Canst thou take up a fallen link +in my Milan hauberk?” + +“As well, please your Highness, as my mother could take up a stitch in +the nets she wove. The Milaner shall not know my work from his own.” + +“Well, but that was not what I wished of thee just now,” said the +Prince, recollecting himself: “this poor glee woman, good Smith, +she must be placed in safety. Thou art man enough to be any woman’s +champion, and thou must conduct her to some place of safety.” + +Henry Smith was, as we have seen, sufficiently rash and daring when +weapons were in question. But he had also the pride of a decent burgher, +and was unwilling to place himself in what might be thought equivocal +circumstances by the sober part of his fellow citizens. + +“May it please your Highness,” he said, “I am but a poor craftsman. But, +though my arm and sword are at the King’s service and your Highness’s, +I am, with reverence, no squire of dames. Your Highness will find, among +your own retinue, knights and lords willing enough to play Sir Pandarus +of Troy; it is too knightly a part for poor Hal of the Wynd.” + +“Umph--hah!” said the Prince. “My purse, Edgar.” (His attendant +whispered him.) “True--true, I gave it to the poor wench. I know enough +of your craft, sir smith, and of craftsmen in general, to be aware that +men lure not hawks with empty hands; but I suppose my word may pass for +the price of a good armour, and I will pay it thee, with thanks to boot, +for this slight service.” + +“Your Highness may know other craftsmen,” said the smith; “but, with +reverence, you know not Henry Gow. He will obey you in making a weapon, +or in wielding one, but he knows nothing of this petticoat service.” + +“Hark thee, thou Perthshire mule,” said the Prince, yet smiling, while +he spoke, at the sturdy punctilio of the honest burgher; “the wench is +as little to me as she is to thee. But in an idle moment, as you may +learn from those about thee, if thou sawest it not thyself, I did her a +passing grace, which is likely to cost the poor wretch her life. There +is no one here whom I can trust to protect her against the discipline of +belt and bowstring, with which the Border brutes who follow Douglas will +beat her to death, since such is his pleasure.” + +“If such be the case, my liege, she has a right to every honest man’s +protection; and since she wears a petticoat--though I would it were +longer and of a less fanciful fashion--I will answer for her protection +as well as a single man may. But where am I to bestow her?” + +“Good faith, I cannot tell,” said the Prince. “Take her to Sir John +Ramorny’s lodging. But, no--no--he is ill at ease, and besides, there +are reasons; take her to the devil if thou wilt, but place her in +safety, and oblige David of Rothsay.” + +“My noble Prince,” said the smith, “I think, always with reverence, that +I would rather give a defenceless woman to the care of the devil than of +Sir John Ramorny. But though the devil be a worker in fire like myself, +yet I know not his haunts, and with aid of Holy Church hope to keep him +on terms of defiance. And, moreover, how I am to convey her out of this +crowd, or through the streets, in such a mumming habit may be well made +a question.” + +“For the leaving the convent,” said the Prince, “this good monk” + (seizing upon the nearest by his cowl)--“Father Nicholas or Boniface--” + +“Poor brother Cyprian, at your Highness’s command,” said the father. + +“Ay--ay, brother Cyprian,” continued the Prince--“yes. Brother Cyprian +shall let you out at some secret passage which he knows of, and I will +see him again to pay a prince’s thanks for it.” + +The churchman bowed in acquiescence, and poor Louise, who, during this +debate, had looked from the one speaker to the other, hastily said, “I +will not scandalise this good man with my foolish garb: I have a mantle +for ordinary wear.” + +“Why, there, Smith, thou hast a friar’s hood and a woman’s mantle to +shroud thee under. I would all my frailties were as well shrouded. +Farewell, honest fellow; I will thank thee hereafter.” + +Then, as if afraid of farther objection on the smith’s part, he hastened +into the palace. + +Henry Gow remained stupefied at what had passed, and at finding himself +involved in a charge at once inferring much danger and an equal risk +of scandal, both which, joined to a principal share which he had taken, +with his usual forwardness, in the fray, might, he saw, do him no small +injury in the suit he pursued most anxiously. At the same time, to leave +a defenceless creature to the ill usage of the barbarous Galwegians and +licentious followers of the Douglas was a thought which his manly heart +could not brook for an instant. + +He was roused from his reverie by the voice of the monk, who, sliding +out his words with the indifference which the holy fathers entertained, +or affected, towards all temporal matters, desired them to follow him. +The smith put himself in motion, with a sigh much resembling a groan, +and, without appearing exactly connected with the monk’s motions, he +followed him into a cloister, and through a postern door, which, after +looking once behind him, the priest left ajar. Behind them followed +Louise, who had hastily assumed her small bundle, and, calling her +little four legged companion, had eagerly followed in the path which +opened an escape from what had shortly before seemed a great and +inevitable danger. + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + Then up and spak the auld gudewife, + And wow! but she was grim: + “Had e’er your father done the like, + It had been ill for him.” + + Lucky Trumbull. + + +The party were now, by a secret passage, admitted within the church, the +outward doors of which, usually left open, had been closed against +every one in consequence of the recent tumult, when the rioters of both +parties had endeavoured to rush into it for other purposes than those of +devotion. They traversed the gloomy aisles, whose arched roof resounded +to the heavy tread of the armourer, but was silent under the sandalled +foot of the monk, and the light step of poor Louise, who trembled +excessively, as much from fear as cold. She saw that neither her +spiritual nor temporal conductor looked kindly upon her. The former was +an austere man, whose aspect seemed to hold the luckless wanderer in +some degree of horror, as well as contempt; while the latter, though, as +we have seen, one of the best natured men living, was at present grave +to the pitch of sternness, and not a little displeased with having the +part he was playing forced upon him, without, as he was constrained to +feel, a possibility of his declining it. + +His dislike at his task extended itself to the innocent object of +his protection, and he internally said to himself, as he surveyed her +scornfully: “A proper queen of beggars to walk the streets of Perth +with, and I a decent burgher! This tawdry minion must have as ragged +a reputation as the rest of her sisterhood, and I am finely sped if +my chivalry in her behalf comes to Catharine’s ears. I had better have +slain a man, were he the best in Perth; and, by hammer and nails, I +would have done it on provocation, rather than convoy this baggage +through the city.” + +Perhaps Louise suspected the cause of her conductor’s anxiety, for she +said, timidly and with hesitation: “Worthy sir, were it not better I +should stop one instant in that chapel and don my mantle?” + +“Umph, sweetheart, well proposed,” said the armourer; but the monk +interfered, raising at the same time the finger of interdiction. + +“The chapel of holy St. Madox is no tiring room for jugglers and +strollers to shift their trappings in. I will presently show thee a +vestiary more suited to thy condition.” + +The poor young woman hung down her humbled head, and turned from +the chapel door which she had approached with the deep sense of self +abasement. Her little spaniel seemed to gather from his mistress’s looks +and manner that they were unauthorised intruders on the holy ground +which they trode, and hung his ears, and swept the pavement with his +tail, as he trotted slowly and close to Louise’s heels. + +The monk moved on without a pause. They descended a broad flight of +steps, and proceeded through a labyrinth of subterranean passages, dimly +lighted. As they passed a low arched door, the monk turned and said +to Louise, with the same stern voice as before: “There, daughter of +folly--there is a robing room, where many before you have deposited +their vestments.” + +Obeying the least signal with ready and timorous acquiescence, she +pushed the door open, but instantly recoiled with terror. It was a +charnel house, half filled with dry skulls and bones. + +“I fear to change my dress there, and alone. But, if you, father, +command it, be it as you will.” + +“Why, thou child of vanity, the remains on which thou lookest are but +the earthly attire of those who, in their day, led or followed in the +pursuit of worldly pleasure. And such shalt thou be, for all thy mincing +and ambling, thy piping and thy harping--thou, and all such ministers of +frivolous and worldly pleasure, must become like these poor bones, whom +thy idle nicety fears and loathes to look upon.” + +“Say not with idle nicety, reverend father,” answered the glee maiden, +“for, Heaven knows, I covet the repose of these poor bleached relics; +and if, by stretching my body upon them, I could, without sin, bring my +state to theirs, I would choose that charnel heap for my place of rest +beyond the fairest and softest couch in Scotland.” + +“Be patient, and come on,” said the monk, in a milder tone, “the reaper +must not leave the harvest work till sunset gives the signal that the +day’s toil is over.” + +They walked forward. Brother Cyprian, at the end of a long gallery, +opened the door of a small apartment, or perhaps a chapel, for it was +decorated with a crucifix, before which burned four lamps. All bent and +crossed themselves; and the priest said to the minstrel maiden, pointing +to the crucifix, “What says that emblem?” + +“That HE invites the sinner as well as the righteous to approach.” + +“Ay, if the sinner put from him his sin,” said the monk, whose tone of +voice was evidently milder. “Prepare thyself here for thy journey.” + +Louise remained an instant or two in the chapel, and presently +reappeared in a mantle of coarse grey cloth, in which she had closely +muffled herself, having put such of her more gaudy habiliments as she +had time to take off in the little basket which had before held her +ordinary attire. + +The monk presently afterwards unlocked a door which led to the open air. +They found themselves in the garden which surrounded the monastery of +the Dominicans. + +“The southern gate is on the latch, and through it you can pass +unnoticed,” said the monk. “Bless thee, my son; and bless thee too, +unhappy child. Remembering where you put off your idle trinkets, may you +take care how you again resume them!” + +“Alas, father!” said Louise, “if the poor foreigner could supply the +mere wants of life by any more creditable occupation, she has small wish +to profess her idle art. But--” + +But the monk had vanished; nay, the very door though which she had just +passed appeared to have vanished also, so curiously was it concealed +beneath a flying buttress, and among the profuse ornaments of Gothic +architecture. + +“Here is a woman let out by this private postern, sure enough,” was +Henry’s reflection. “Pray Heaven the good fathers never let any in! The +place seems convenient for such games at bo peep. But, Benedicite, what +is to be done next? I must get rid of this quean as fast as I can; and +I must see her safe. For let her be at heart what she may, she looks too +modest, now she is in decent dress, to deserve the usage which the wild +Scot of Galloway, or the devil’s legion from the Liddel, are like to +afford her.” + +Louise stood as if she waited his pleasure which way to go. Her little +dog, relieved by the exchange of the dark, subterranean vault for the +open air, sprung in wild gambols through the walks, and jumped upon its +mistress, and even, though more timidly, circled close round the smith’s +feet, to express its satisfaction to him also, and conciliate his +favour. + +“Down, Charlot--down!” said the glee maiden. “You are glad to get +into the blessed sunshine; but where shall we rest at night, my poor +Charlot?” + +“And now, mistress,” said the smith, not churlishly, for it was not in +his nature, but bluntly, as one who is desirous to finish a disagreeable +employment, “which way lies your road?” + +Louise looked on the ground and was silent. On being again urged to say +which way she desired to be conducted, she again looked down, and said +she could not tell. + +“Come--come,” said Henry, “I understand all that: I have been a +galliard--a reveller in my day, but it’s best to be plain. As matters +are with me now, I am an altered man for these many, many months; and +so, my quean, you and I must part sooner than perhaps a light o’ love +such as you expected to part with--a likely young fellow.” + +Louise wept silently, with her eyes still cast on the ground, as one +who felt an insult which she had not a right to complain of. At length, +perceiving that her conductor was grown impatient, she faltered out, +“Noble sir--” + +“Sir is for a knight,” said the impatient burgher, “and noble is for +a baron. I am Harry of the Wynd, an honest mechanic, and free of my +guild.” + +“Good craftsman, then,” said the minstrel woman, “you judge me harshly, +but not without seeming cause. I would relieve you immediately of my +company, which, it may be, brings little credit to good men, did I but +know which way to go.” + +“To the next wake or fair, to be sure,” said Henry, roughly, having no +doubt that this distress was affected for the purpose of palming +herself upon him, and perhaps dreading to throw himself into the way +of temptation; “and that is the feast of St. Madox, at Auchterarder. I +warrant thou wilt find the way thither well enough.” + +“Aftr--Auchter--” repeated the glee maiden, her Southern tongue in vain +attempting the Celtic accentuation. “I am told my poor plays will not be +understood if I go nearer to yon dreadful range of mountains.” + +“Will you abide, then, in Perth?” + +“But where to lodge?” said the wanderer. + +“Why, where lodged you last night?” replied the smith. “You know where +you came from, surely, though you seem doubtful where you are going?” + +“I slept in the hospital of the convent. But I was only admitted upon +great importunity, and I was commanded not to return.” + +“Nay, they will never take you in with the ban of the Douglas upon you, +that is even too true. But the Prince mentioned Sir John Ramorny’s; I +can take you to his lodgings through bye streets, though it is short of +an honest burgher’s office, and my time presses.” + +“I will go anywhere; I know I am a scandal and incumbrance. There was a +time when it was otherwise. But this Ramorny, who is he?” + +“A courtly knight, who lives a jolly bachelor’s life, and is master of +the horse, and privado, as they say, to the young prince.” + +“What! to the wild, scornful young man who gave occasion to yonder +scandal? Oh, take me not thither, good friend. Is there no Christian +woman who would give a poor creature rest in her cowhouse or barn for +one night? I will be gone with early daybreak. I will repay her richly. +I have gold; and I will repay you, too, if you will take me where I may +be safe from that wild reveller, and from the followers of that dark +baron, in whose eye was death.” + +“Keep your gold for those who lack it, mistress,” said Henry, “and +do not offer to honest hands the money that is won by violing, and +tabouring, and toe tripping, and perhaps worse pastimes. I tell you +plainly, mistress, I am not to be fooled. I am ready to take you to any +place of safety you can name, for my promise is as strong as an iron +shackle. But you cannot persuade me that you do not know what earth to +make for. You are not so young in your trade as not to know there are +hostelries in every town, much more in a city like Perth, where such as +you may be harboured for your money, if you cannot find some gulls, more +or fewer, to pay your lawing. If you have money, mistress, my care about +you need be the less; and truly I see little but pretence in all +that excessive grief, and fear of being left alone, in one of your +occupation.” + +Having thus, as he conceived, signified that he was not to be deceived +by the ordinary arts of a glee maiden, Henry walked a few paces +sturdily, endeavouring to think he was doing the wisest and most prudent +thing in the world. Yet he could not help looking back to see how Louise +bore his departure, and was shocked to observe that she had sunk upon a +bank, with her arms resting on her knees and her head on her arms, in a +situation expressive of the utmost desolation. + +The smith tried to harden his heart. “It is all a sham,” he said: “the +gouge knows her trade, I’ll be sworn, by St. Ringan.” + +At the instant something pulled the skirts of his cloak; and looking +round, he saw the little spaniel, who immediately, as if to plead his +mistress’s cause, got on his hind legs and began to dance, whimpering at +the same time, and looking back to Louise, as if to solicit compassion +for his forsaken owner. + +“Poor thing,” said the smith, “there may be a trick in this too, for +thou dost but as thou art taught. Yet, as I promised to protect this +poor creature, I must not leave her in a swoon, if it be one, were it +but for manhood’s sake.” + +Returning, and approaching his troublesome charge, he was at once +assured, from the change of her complexion, either that she was actually +in the deepest distress, or had a power of dissimulation beyond the +comprehension of man--or woman either. + +“Young woman,” he said, with more of kindness than he had hitherto been +able even to assume, “I will tell you frankly how I am placed. This +is St. Valentine’s Day, and by custom I was to spend it with my fair +Valentine. But blows and quarrels have occupied all the morning, save +one poor half hour. Now, you may well understand where my heart and my +thoughts are, and where, were it only in mere courtesy, my body ought to +be.” + +The glee maiden listened, and appeared to comprehend him. + +“If you are a true lover, and have to wait upon a chaste Valentine, God +forbid that one like me should make a disturbance between you! Think +about me no more. I will ask of that great river to be my guide to where +it meets the ocean, where I think they said there was a seaport; I will +sail from thence to La Belle France, and will find myself once more in +a country in which the roughest peasant would not wrong the poorest +female.” + +“You cannot go to Dundee today,” said the smith. “The Douglas people are +in motion on both sides of the river, for the alarm of the morning has +reached them ere now; and all this day, and the next, and the whole +night which is between, they will gather to their leader’s standard, +like Highlandmen at the fiery cross. Do you see yonder five or six +men who are riding so wildly on the other side of the river? These are +Annandale men: I know them by the length of their lances, and by the way +they hold them. An Annandale man never slopes his spear backwards, but +always keeps the point upright, or pointed forward.” + +“And what of them?” said the glee maiden. “They are men at arms and +soldiers. They would respect me for my viol and my helplessness.” + +“I will say them no scandal,” answered the smith. “If you were in their +own glens, they would use you hospitably, and you would have nothing to +fear; but they are now on an expedition. All is fish that comes to their +net. There are amongst them who would take your life for the value of +your gold earrings. Their whole soul is settled in their eyes to see +prey, and in their hands to grasp it. They have no ears either to hear +lays of music or listen to prayers for mercy. Besides, their leader’s +order is gone forth concerning you, and it is of a kind sure to be +obeyed. Ay, great lords are sooner listened to if they say, ‘Burn a +church,’ than if they say, ‘Build one.’” + +“Then,” said the glee woman, “I were best sit down and die.” + +“Do not say so,” replied the smith. “If I could but get you a lodging +for the night, I would carry you the next morning to Our Lady’s Stairs, +from whence the vessels go down the river for Dundee, and would put you +on board with some one bound that way, who should see you safely lodged +where you would have fair entertainment and kind usage.” + +“Good--excellent--generous man!” said the glee maiden, “do this, and +if the prayers and blessings of a poor unfortunate should ever reach +Heaven, they will rise thither in thy behalf. We will meet at yonder +postern door, at whatever time the boats take their departure.” + +“That is at six in the morning, when the day is but young.” + +“Away with you, then, to your Valentine; and if she loves you, oh, +deceive her not!” + +“Alas, poor damsel! I fear it is deceit hath brought thee to this pass. +But I must not leave you thus unprovided. I must know where you are to +pass the night.” + +“Care not for that,” replied Louise: “the heavens are clear--there are +bushes and boskets enough by the river side--Charlot and I can well make +a sleeping room of a green arbour for one night; and tomorrow will, +with your promised aid, see me out of reach of injury and wrong. Oh, +the night soon passes away when there is hope for tomorrow! Do you still +linger, with your Valentine waiting for you? Nay, I shall hold you but a +loitering lover, and you know what belongs to a minstrel’s reproaches.” + +“I cannot leave you, damsel,” answered the armourer, now completely +melted. “It were mere murder to suffer you to pass the night exposed to +the keenness of a Scottish blast in February. No--no, my word would be +ill kept in this manner; and if I should incur some risk of blame, it is +but just penance for thinking of thee, and using thee, more according to +my own prejudices, as I now well believe, than thy merits. Come with +me, damsel; thou shalt have a sure and honest lodging for the night, +whatsoever may be the consequence. It would be an evil compliment to my +Catharine, were I to leave a poor creature to be starved to death, that +I might enjoy her company an hour sooner.” + +So saying, and hardening himself against all anticipations of the ill +consequences or scandal which might arise from such a measure, the manly +hearted smith resolved to set evil report at defiance, and give the +wanderer a night’s refuge in his own house. It must be added, that +he did this with extreme reluctance, and in a sort of enthusiasm of +benevolence. + +Ere our stout son of Vulcan had fixed his worship on the Fair Maid of +Perth, a certain natural wildness of disposition had placed him under +the influence of Venus, as well as that of Mars; and it was only the +effect of a sincere attachment which had withdrawn him entirely from +such licentious pleasures. He was therefore justly jealous of his +newly acquired reputation for constancy, which his conduct to this +poor wanderer must expose to suspicion; a little doubtful, perhaps, of +exposing himself too venturously to temptation; and moreover in despair +to lose so much of St. Valentine’s Day, which custom not only permitted, +but enjoined him to pass beside his mate for the season. The journey to +Kinfauns, and the various transactions which followed, had consumed the +day, and it was now nearly evensong time. + +As if to make up by a speedy pace for the time he was compelled to waste +upon a subject so foreign to that which he had most at heart, he strode +on through the Dominicans’ gardens, entered the town, and casting his +cloak around the lower part of his face, and pulling down his bonnet to +conceal the upper, he continued the same celerity of movement through +bye streets and lanes, hoping to reach his own house in the Wynd without +being observed. But when he had continued his rate of walking for ten +minutes, he began to be sensible it might be too rapid for the young +woman to keep up with him. He accordingly looked behind him with a +degree of angry impatience, which soon turned into compunction, when +he saw that she was almost utterly exhausted by the speed which she had +exerted. + +“Now, marry, hang me up for a brute,” said Henry to himself. “Was my +own haste ever so great, could it give that poor creature wings? And she +loaded with baggage too! I am an ill nurtured beast, that is certain, +wherever women are in question; and always sure to do wrong when I have +the best will to act right. + +“Hark thee, damsel; let me carry these things for thee. We shall make +better speed that I do so.” + +Poor Louise would have objected, but her breath was too much exhausted +to express herself; and she permitted her good natured guardian to take +her little basket, which, when the dog beheld, he came straight before +Henry, stood up, and shook his fore paws, whining gently, as if he too +wanted to be carried. + +“Nay, then, I must needs lend thee a lift too,” said the smith, who saw +the creature was tired: + +“Fie, Charlot!” said Louise; “thou knowest I will carry thee myself.” + +She endeavoured to take up the little spaniel, but it escaped from her; +and going to the other side of the smith, renewed its supplication that +he would take it up. + +“Charlot’s right,” said the smith: “he knows best who is ablest to bear +him. This lets me know, my pretty one, that you have not been always the +bearer of your own mail: Charlot can tell tales.” + +So deadly a hue came across the poor glee maiden’s countenance as Henry +spoke, that he was obliged to support her, lest she should have dropped +to the ground. She recovered again, however, in an instant or two, and +with a feeble voice requested her guide would go on. + +“Nay--nay,” said Henry, as they began to move, “keep hold of my cloak, +or my arm, if it helps you forward better. A fair sight we are; and had +I but a rebeck or a guitar at my back, and a jackanapes on my shoulder, +we should seem as joyous a brace of strollers as ever touched string at +a castle gate. + +“Snails!” he ejaculated internally, “were any neighbour to meet me with +this little harlotry’s basket at my back, her dog under my arm, and +herself hanging on my cloak, what could they think but that I had turned +mumper in good earnest? I would not for the best harness I ever laid +hammer on, that any of our long tongued neighbours met me in this guise; +it were a jest would last from St. Valentine’s Day to next Candlemas.” + +Stirred by these thoughts, the smith, although at the risk of making +much longer a route which he wished to traverse as swiftly as possible, +took the most indirect and private course which he could find, in order +to avoid the main streets, still crowded with people, owing to the late +scene of tumult and agitation. But unhappily his policy availed him +nothing; for, in turning into an alley, he met a man with his cloak +muffled around his face, from a desire like his own to pass unobserved, +though the slight insignificant figure, the spindle shanks, which showed +themselves beneath the mantle, and the small dull eye that blinked over +its upper folds, announced the pottingar as distinctly as if he had +carried his sign in front of his bonnet. His unexpected and most +unwelcome presence overwhelmed the smith with confusion. Ready evasion +was not the property of his bold, blunt temper; and knowing this man +to be a curious observer, a malignant tale bearer, and by no means well +disposed to himself in particular, no better hope occurred to him than +that the worshipful apothecary would give him some pretext to silence +his testimony and secure his discretion by twisting his neck round. + +But, far from doing or saying anything which could warrant such +extremities, the pottingar, seeing himself so close upon his stalwart +townsman that recognition was inevitable, seemed determined it should +be as slight as possible; and without appearing to notice anything +particular in the company or circumstances in which they met, he barely +slid out these words as he passed him, without even a glance towards his +companion after the first instant of their meeting: “A merry holiday to +you once more, stout smith. What! thou art bringing thy cousin, pretty +Mistress Joan Letham, with her mail, from the waterside--fresh from +Dundee, I warrant? I heard she was expected at the old cordwainer’s.” + +As he spoke thus, he looked neither right nor left, and exchanging +a “Save you!” with a salute of the same kind which the smith rather +muttered than uttered distinctly, he glided forward on his way like a +shadow. + +“The foul fiend catch me, if I can swallow that pill,” said Henry Smith, +“how well soever it may be gilded. The knave has a shrewd eye for a +kirtle, and knows a wild duck from a tame as well as e’er a man in +Perth. He were the last in the Fair City to take sour plums for pears, +or my roundabout cousin Joan for this piece of fantastic vanity. I fancy +his bearing was as much as to say, ‘I will not see what you might wish +me blind to’; and he is right to do so, as he might easily purchase +himself a broken pate by meddling with my matters, and so he will be +silent for his own sake. But whom have we next? By St. Dunstan, the +chattering, bragging, cowardly knave, Oliver Proudfute!” + +It was, indeed, the bold bonnet maker whom they next encountered, who, +with his cap on one side, and trolling the ditty of-- + + “Thou art over long at the pot, Tom, Tom,” + --gave plain intimation that he had made no dry meal. + +“Ha! my jolly smith,” he said, “have I caught thee in the manner? What, +can the true steel bend? Can Vulcan, as the minstrel says, pay Venus +back in her own coin? Faith, thou wilt be a gay Valentine before the +year’s out, that begins with the holiday so jollily.” + +“Hark ye, Oliver,” said the displeased smith, “shut your eyes and pass +on, crony. And hark ye again, stir not your tongue about what concerns +you not, as you value having an entire tooth in your head.” + +“I betray counsel? I bear tales, and that against my brother martialist? +I would not tell it even to my timber soldan! Why, I can be a wild +galliard in a corner as well as thou, man. And now I think on’t, I +will go with thee somewhere, and we will have a rouse together, and thy +Dalilah shall give us a song. Ha! said I not well?” + +“Excellently,” said Henry, longing the whole time to knock his brother +martialist down, but wisely taking a more peaceful way to rid himself of +the incumbrance of his presence--“excellently well! I may want thy help, +too, for here are five or six of the Douglasses before us: they will not +fail to try to take the wench from a poor burgher like myself, so I will +be glad of the assistance of a tearer such as thou art.” + +“I thank ye--I thank ye,” answered the bonnet maker; “but were I not +better run and cause ring the common bell, and get my great sword?” + +“Ay, ay, run home as fast as you can, and say nothing of what you have +seen.” + +“Who, I? Nay, fear me not. Pah! I scorn a tale bearer.” + +“Away with you, then. I hear the clash of armour.” + +This put life and mettle into the heels of the bonnet maker, who, +turning his back on the supposed danger, set off at a pace which the +smith never doubted would speedily bring him to his own house. + +“Here is another chattering jay to deal with,” thought the smith; “but +I have a hank over him too. The minstrels have a fabliau of a daw +with borrowed feathers--why, this Oliver is The very bird, and, by St. +Dunstan, if he lets his chattering tongue run on at my expense, I will +so pluck him as never hawk plumed a partridge. And this he knows.” + +As these reflections thronged on his mind, he had nearly reached the end +of his journey, and, with the glee maiden still hanging on his cloak, +exhausted, partly with fear, partly with fatigue, he at length arrived +at the middle of the wynd, which was honoured with his own habitation, +and from which, in the uncertainty that then attended the application +of surnames, he derived one of his own appellatives. Here, on ordinary +days, his furnace was seen to blaze, and four half stripped knaves +stunned the neighbourhood with the clang of hammer and stithy. But St. +Valentine’s holiday was an excuse for these men of steel having shut the +shop, and for the present being absent on their own errands of devotion +or pleasure. The house which adjoined to the smithy called Henry its +owner; and though it was small, and situated in a narrow street, yet, as +there was a large garden with fruit trees behind it, it constituted +upon the whole a pleasant dwelling. The smith, instead of knocking or +calling, which would have drawn neighbours to doors and windows, +drew out a pass key of his own fabrication, then a great and envied +curiosity, and opening the door of his house, introduced his companion +into his habitation. + +The apartment which received Henry and the glee maiden was the kitchen, +which served amongst those of the smith’s station for the family sitting +room, although one or two individuals, like Simon Glover, had an eating +room apart from that in which their victuals were prepared. In the +corner of this apartment, which was arranged with an unusual attention +to cleanliness, sat an old woman, whose neatness of attire, and the +precision with which her scarlet plaid was drawn over her head, so as +to descend to her shoulders on each side, might have indicated a higher +rank than that of Luckie Shoolbred, the smith’s housekeeper. Yet such +and no other was her designation; and not having attended mass in the +morning, she was quietly reposing herself by the side of the fire, her +beads, half told, hanging over her left arm; her prayers, half said, +loitering upon her tongue; her eyes, half closed, resigning themselves +to slumber, while she expected the return of her foster son, without +being able to guess at what hour it was likely to happen. She started +up at the sound of his entrance, and bent her eye upon his companion, at +first with a look of the utmost surprise, which gradually was exchanged +for one expressive of great displeasure. + +“Now the saints bless mine eyesight, Henry Smith!” she exclaimed, very +devoutly. + +“Amen, with all my heart. Get some food ready presently, good nurse, for +I fear me this traveller hath dined but lightly.” + +“And again I pray that Our Lady would preserve my eyesight from the +wicked delusions of Satan!” + +“So be it, I tell you, good woman. But what is the use of all this +pattering and prayering? Do you not hear me? or will you not do as I bid +you?” + +“It must be himself, then, whatever is of it! But, oh! it is more like +the foul fiend in his likeness, to have such a baggage hanging upon his +cloak. Oh, Harry Smith, men called you a wild lad for less things; but +who would ever have thought that Harry would have brought a light leman +under the roof that sheltered his worthy mother, and where his own nurse +has dwelt for thirty years?” + +“Hold your peace, old woman, and be reasonable,” said the smith. “This +glee woman is no leman of mine, nor of any other person that I know of; +but she is going off for Dundee tomorrow by the boats, and we must give +her quarters till then.” + +“Quarters!” said the old woman. “You may give quarters to such cattle if +you like it yourself, Harry Wynd; but the same house shall not quarter +that trumpery quean and me, and of that you may assure yourself.” + +“Your mother is angry with me,” said Louise, misconstruing the connexion +of the parties. “I will not remain to give her any offence. If there is +a stable or a cowhouse, an empty stall will be bed enough for Charlot +and me.” + +“Ay--ay, I am thinking it is the quarters you are best used to,” said +Dame Shoolbred. + +“Harkye, Nurse Shoolbred,” said the smith. “You know I love you for your +own sake and for my mother’s; but by St. Dunstan, who was a saint of my +own craft, I will have the command of my own house; and if you leave me +without any better reason but your own nonsensical suspicions, you must +think how you will have the door open to you when you return; for you +shall have no help of mine, I promise you.” + +“Aweel, my bairn, and that will never make me risk the honest name I +have kept for sixty years. It was never your mother’s custom, and it +shall never be mine, to take up with ranters, and jugglers, and singing +women; and I am not so far to seek for a dwelling, that the same roof +should cover me and a tramping princess like that.” + +With this the refractory gouvernante began in great hurry to adjust her +tartan mantle for going abroad, by pulling it so forwards as to conceal +the white linen cap, the edges of which bordered her shrivelled but +still fresh and healthful countenance. This done, she seized upon a +staff, the trusty companion of her journeys, and was fairly trudging +towards the door, when the smith stepped between her and the passage. + +“Wait at least, old woman, till we have cleared scores. I owe you for +fee and bountith.” + +“An’ that’s e’en a dream of your own fool’s head. What fee or bountith +am I to take from the son of your mother, that fed, clad, and bielded me +as if I had been a sister?” + +“And well you repay it, nurse, leaving her only child at his utmost +need.” + +This seemed to strike the obstinate old woman with compunction. She +stopped and looked at her master and the minstrel alternately; then +shook her head, and seemed about to resume her motion towards the door. + +“I only receive this poor wanderer under my roof,” urged the smith, “to +save her from the prison and the scourge.” + +“And why should you save her?” said the inexorable Dame Shoolbred. “I +dare say she has deserved them both as well as ever thief deserved a +hempen collar.” + +“For aught I know she may or she may not. But she cannot deserve to be +scourged to death, or imprisoned till she is starved to death; and that +is the lot of them that the Black Douglas bears mal-talent against.” + +“And you are going to thraw the Black Douglas for the cake of a glee +woman? This will be the worst of your feuds yet. Oh, Henry Gow, there is +as much iron in your head as in your anvil!” + +“I have sometimes thought this myself; Mistress Shoolbred; but if I do +get a cut or two on this new argument, I wonder who is to cure them, if +you run away from me like a scared wild goose? Ay, and, moreover, who is +to receive my bonny bride, that I hope to bring up the wynd one of these +days?” + +“Ah, Harry--Harry,” said the old woman, shaking her head, “this is not +the way to prepare an honest man’s house for a young bride: you +should be guided by modesty and discretion, and not by chambering and +wantonness.” + +“I tell you again, this poor creature is nothing to me. I wish her only +to be safely taken care of; and I think the boldest Borderman in Perth +will respect the bar of my door as much as the gate of Carlisle Castle. +I am going down to Sim Glover’s; I may stay there all night, for the +Highland cub is run back to the hills, like a wolf whelp as he is, and +so there is a bed to spare, and father Simon will make me welcome to +the use of it. You will remain with this poor creature, feed her, and +protect her during the night, and I will call on her before day; and +thou mayst go with her to the boat thyself an thou wilt, and so thou +wilt set the last eyes on her at the same time I shall.” + +“There is some reason in that,” said Dame Shoolbred; “though why you +should put your reputation in risk for a creature that would find a +lodging for a silver twopence and less matter is a mystery to me.” + +“Trust me with that, old woman, and be kind to the girl.” + +“Kinder than she deserves, I warrant you; and truly, though I little +like the company of such cattle, yet I think I am less like to take harm +from her than you--unless she be a witch, indeed, which may well come +to be the case, as the devil is very powerful with all this wayfaring +clanjamfray.” + +“No more a witch than I am a warlock,” said the honest smith: “a poor, +broken hearted thing, that, if she hath done evil, has dreed a sore +weird for it. Be kind to her. And you, my musical damsel, I will call +on you tomorrow morning, and carry you to the waterside. This old woman +will treat you kindly if you say nothing to her but what becomes honest +ears.” + +The poor minstrel had listened to this dialogue without understanding +more than its general tendency; for, though she spoke English well, she +had acquired the language in England itself; and the Northern dialect +was then, as now, of a broader and harsher character. She saw, however, +that she was to remain with the old lady, and meekly folding her arms +on her bosom, bent her head with humility. She next looked towards the +smith with a strong expression of thankfulness, then, raising her eyes +to heaven, took his passive hand, and seemed about to kiss the sinewy +fingers in token of deep and affectionate gratitude. + +But Dame Shoolbred did not give license to the stranger’s mode of +expressing her feelings. She thrust in between them, and pushing poor +Louise aside, said, “No--no, I’ll have none of that work. Go into the +chimney nook, mistress, and when Harry Smith’s gone, if you must have +hands to kiss, you shall kiss mine as long as you like. And you, Harry, +away down to Sim Glover’s, for if pretty Mistress Catharine hears of the +company you have brought home, she may chance to like them as little +as I do. What’s the matter now? is the man demented? are you going out +without your buckler, and the whole town in misrule?” + +“You are right, dame,” said the armourer; and, throwing the buckler over +his broad shoulders, he departed from his house without abiding farther +question. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, + Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills + Their mountain pipe, so fill the mountaineers + With the fierce native daring which instils + The stirring memory of a thousand years. + + BYRON. + + +We must now leave the lower parties in our historical drama, to attend +to the incidents which took place among those of a higher rank and +greater importance. + +We pass from the hut of an armourer to the council room of a monarch, +and resume our story just when, the tumult beneath being settled, the +angry chieftains were summoned to the royal presence. They entered, +displeased with and lowering upon each other, each so exclusively filled +with his own fancied injuries as to be equally unwilling and unable +to attend to reason or argument. Albany alone, calm and crafty, seemed +prepared to use their dissatisfaction for his own purposes, and turn +each incident as it should occur to the furtherance of his own indirect +ends. + +The King’s irresolution, although it amounted even to timidity, did not +prevent his assuming the exterior bearing becoming his situation. It +was only when hard pressed, as in the preceding scene, that he lost his +apparent composure. In general, he might be driven from his purpose, but +seldom from his dignity of manner. He received Albany, Douglas, March, +and the prior, those ill assorted members of his motley council, with a +mixture of courtesy and loftiness, which reminded each haughty peer that +he stood in the presence of his sovereign, and compelled him to do the +beseeming reverence. + +Having received their salutations, the King motioned them to be seated; +and they were obeying his commands when Rothsay entered. He walked +gracefully up to his father, and, kneeling at his footstool, requested +his blessing. Robert, with an aspect in which fondness and sorrow were +ill disguised, made an attempt to assume a look of reproof, as he laid +his hand on the youth’s head and said, with a sigh, “God bless thee, my +thoughtless boy, and make thee a wiser man in thy future years!” + +“Amen, my dearest father!” said Rothsay, in a tone of feeling such as +his happier moments often evinced. He then kissed the royal hand, with +the reverence of a son and a subject; and, instead of taking a place at +the council board, remained standing behind the King’s chair, in such a +position that he might, when he chose, whisper into his father’s ear. + +The King next made a sign to the prior of St. Dominic to take his place +at the table, on which there were writing materials, which, of all the +subjects present, Albany excepted, the churchman was alone able to use. +The King then opened the purpose of their meeting by saying, with much +dignity: + +“Our business, my lords, respected these unhappy dissensions in the +Highlands, which, we learn by our latest messengers, are about to +occasion the waste and destruction of the country, even within a few +miles of this our own court. But, near as this trouble is, our ill fate, +and the instigations of wicked men, have raised up one yet nearer, by +throwing strife and contention among the citizens of Perth and those +attendants who follow your lordships and others our knights and nobles. +I must first, therefore, apply to yourselves, my lords, to know why our +court is disturbed by such unseemly contendings, and by what means they +ought to be repressed? Brother of Albany, do you tell us first your +sentiments on this matter.” + +“Sir, our royal sovereign and brother,” said the Duke, “being in +attendance on your Grace’s person when the fray began, I am not +acquainted with its origin.” + +“And for me,” said the Prince, “I heard no worse war cry than a minstrel +wench’s ballad, and saw no more dangerous bolts flying than hazel nuts.” + +“And I,” said the Earl of March, “could only perceive that the stout +citizens of Perth had in chase some knaves who had assumed the Bloody +Heart on their shoulders. They ran too fast to be actually the men of +the Earl of Douglas.” + +Douglas understood the sneer, but only replied to it by one of those +withering looks with which he was accustomed to intimate his mortal +resentment. He spoke, however, with haughty composure. + +“My liege,” he said, “must of course know it is Douglas who must +answer to this heavy charge, for when was there strife or bloodshed +in Scotland, but there were foul tongues to asperse a Douglas or +a Douglas’s man as having given cause to them? We have here goodly +witnesses. I speak not of my Lord of Albany, who has only said that he +was, as well becomes him, by your Grace’s side. And I say nothing of my +Lord of Rothsay, who, as befits his rank, years, and understanding, was +cracking nuts with a strolling musician. He smiles. Here he may say his +pleasure; I shall not forget a tie which he seems to have forgotten. But +here is my Lord of March, who saw my followers flying before the clowns +of Perth. I can tell that earl that the followers of the Bloody Heart +advance or retreat when their chieftain commands and the good of +Scotland requires.” + +“And I can answer--” exclaimed the equally proud Earl of March, his +blood rushing into his face, when the King interrupted him. + +“Peace! angry lords,” said the King, “and remember in whose presence you +stand. And you, my Lord of Douglas, tell us, if you can, the cause of +this mutiny, and why your followers, whose general good services we are +most willing to acknowledge, were thus active in private brawl.” + +“I obey, my lord,” said Douglas, slightly stooping a head that seldom +bent. “I was passing from my lodgings in the Carthusian convent, through +the High Street of Perth, with a few of my ordinary retinue, when I +beheld some of the baser sort of citizens crowding around the Cross, +against which there was nailed this placard, and that which accompanies +it.” + +He took from a pocket in the bosom of his buff coat a human hand and a +piece of parchment. The King was shocked and agitated. + +“Read,” he said, “good father prior, and let that ghastly spectacle be +removed.” + +The prior read a placard to the following purpose: + +“Inasmuch as the house of a citizen of Perth was assaulted last night, +being St. Valentine’s Eve, by a sort of disorderly night walkers, +belonging to some company of the strangers now resident in the Fair +City; and whereas this hand was struck from one of the lawless limmers +in the fray that ensued, the provost and magistrates have directed that +it should be nailed to the Cross, in scorn and contempt of those by whom +such brawl was occasioned. And if any one of knightly degree shall say +that this our act is wrongfully done, I, Patrick Charteris of Kinfauns, +knight, will justify this cartel in knightly weapons, within the +barrace; or, if any one of meaner birth shall deny what is here said, he +shall be met with by a citizen of the Fair City of Perth, according to +his degree. And so God and St. John protect the Fair City!” + +“You will not wonder, my lord,” resumed Douglas, “that, when my almoner +had read to me the contents of so insolent a scroll, I caused one of +my squires to pluck down a trophy so disgraceful to the chivalry and +nobility of Scotland. Where upon, it seems some of these saucy burghers +took license to hoot and insult the hindmost of my train, who wheeled +their horses on them, and would soon have settled the feud, but for +my positive command that they should follow me in as much peace as the +rascally vulgar would permit. And thus they arrived here in the guise +of flying men, when, with my command to repel force by force, they might +have set fire to the four corners of this wretched borough, and stifled +the insolent churls, like malicious fox cubs in a burning brake of +furze.” + +There was a silence when Douglas had done speaking, until the Duke of +Rothsay answered, addressing his father: + +“Since the Earl of Douglas possesses the power of burning the town where +your Grace holds your court, so soon as the provost and he differ about +a night riot, or the terms of a cartel, I am sure we ought all to be +thankful that he has not the will to do so.” + +“The Duke of Rothsay,” said Douglas, who seemed resolved to maintain +command of his temper, “may have reason to thank Heaven in a more +serious tone than he now uses that the Douglas is as true as he is +powerful. This is a time when the subjects in all countries rise against +the law: we have heard of the insurgents of the Jacquerie in France; and +of Jack Straw, and Hob Miller, and Parson Ball, among the Southron; +and we may be sure there is fuel enough to catch such a flame, were it +spreading to our frontiers. When I see peasants challenging noblemen, +and nailing the hands of the gentry to their city cross, I will not say +I fear mutiny--for that would be false--but I foresee, and will stand +well prepared for, it.” + +“And why does my Lord Douglas say,” answered the Earl of March, “that +this cartel has been done by churls? I see Sir Patrick Charteris’s name +there, and he, I ween, is of no churl’s blood. The Douglas himself, +since he takes the matter so warmly, might lift Sir Patrick’s gauntlet +without soiling of his honour.” + +“My Lord of March,” replied Douglas, “should speak but of what he +understands. I do no injustice to the descendant of the Red Rover, +when I say he is too slight to be weighed with the Douglas. The heir of +Thomas Randolph might have a better claim to his answer.” + +“And, by my honour, it shall not miss for want of my asking the grace,” + said the Earl of March, pulling his glove off. + +“Stay, my lord,” said the King. “Do us not so gross an injury as to +bring your feud to mortal defiance here; but rather offer your ungloved +hand in kindness to the noble earl, and embrace in token of your mutual +fealty to the crown of Scotland.” + +“Not so, my liege,” answered March; “your Majesty may command me to +return my gauntlet, for that and all the armour it belongs to are +at your command, while I continue to hold my earldom of the crown of +Scotland; but when I clasp Douglas, it must be with a mailed hand. +Farewell, my liege. My counsels here avail not, nay, are so unfavourably +received, that perhaps farther stay were unwholesome for my safety. May +God keep your Highness from open enemies and treacherous friends! I am +for my castle of Dunbar, from whence I think you will soon hear news. +Farewell to you, my Lords of Albany and Douglas; you are playing a high +game, look you play it fairly. Farewell, poor thoughtless prince, who +art sporting like a fawn within spring of a tiger! Farewell, all--George +of Dunbar sees the evil he cannot remedy. Adieu, all.” + +The King would have spoken, but the accents died on his tongue, as he +received from Albany a look cautioning him to forbear. The Earl of March +left the apartment, receiving the mute salutations of the members of the +council whom he had severally addressed, excepting from Douglas alone, +who returned to his farewell speech a glance of contemptuous defiance. + +“The recreant goes to betray us to the Southron,” he said; “his pride +rests on his possessing that sea worn hold which can admit the English +into Lothian [the castle of Dunbar]. Nay, look not alarmed, my liege, I +will hold good what I say. Nevertheless, it is yet time. Speak but the +word, my liege--say but ‘Arrest him,’ and March shall not yet cross the +Earn on his traitorous journey.” + +“Nay, gallant earl,” said Albany, who wished rather that the two +powerful lords should counterbalance each other than that one should +obtain a decisive superiority, “that were too hasty counsel. The Earl of +March came hither on the King’s warrant of safe conduct, and it may +not consist with my royal brother’s honour to break it. Yet, if your +lordship can bring any detailed proof--” + +Here they were interrupted by a flourish of trumpets. + +“His Grace of Albany is unwontedly scrupulous today,” said Douglas; +“but it skills not wasting words--the time is past--these are March’s +trumpets, and I warrant me he rides at flight speed so soon as he passes +the South Port. We shall hear of him in time; and if it be as I +have conjectured, he shall be met with though all England backed his +treachery.” + +“Nay, let us hope better of the noble earl,” said the King, no way +displeased that the quarrel betwixt March and Douglas had seemed to +obliterate the traces of the disagreement betwixt Rothsay and his father +in law; “he hath a fiery, but not a sullen, temper. In some things he +has been--I will not say wronged, but disappointed--and something is to +be allowed to the resentment of high blood armed with great power. But +thank Heaven, all of us who remain are of one sentiment, and, I may say, +of one house; so that, at least, our councils cannot now be thwarted +with disunion. Father prior, I pray you take your writing materials, +for you must as usual be our clerk of council. And now to business, +my lords; and our first object of consideration must be this Highland +cumber.” + +“Between the Clan Chattan and the Clan Quhele,” said the prior, “which, +as our last advices from our brethren at Dunkeld inform us, is ready +to break out into a more formidable warfare than has yet taken place +between these sons of Belial, who speak of nothing else than of utterly +destroying one another. Their forces are assembling on each side, and +not a man claiming in the tenth degree of kindred but must repair to the +brattach of his tribe, or stand to the punishment of fire and sword. +The fiery cross hath flitted about like a meteor in every direction, and +awakened strange and unknown tribes beyond the distant Moray Firth--may +Heaven and St. Dominic be our protection! But if your lordships cannot +find remedy for evil, it will spread broad and wide, and the patrimony +of the church must in every direction be exposed to the fury of these +Amalekites, with whom there is as little devotion to Heaven as there is +pity or love to their neighbour--may Our Lady be our guard! We hear some +of them are yet utter heathens, and worship Mahound and Termagaunt.” + +“My lords and kinsmen,” said Robert, “ye have heard the urgency of this +case, and may desire to know my sentiments before you deliver what your +own wisdom shall suggest. And, in sooth, no better remedy occurs to me +than to send two commissioners, with full power from us to settle such +debates as be among them, and at the same time to charge them, as they +shall be answerable to the law, to lay down their arms, and forbear all +practices of violence against each other.” + +“I approve of your Grace’s proposal,” said Rothsay; “and I trust the +good prior will not refuse the venerable station of envoy upon +this peacemaking errand. And his reverend brother, the abbot of the +Carthusian convent, must contend for an honour which will certainly +add two most eminent recruits to the large army of martyrs, since the +Highlanders little regard the distinction betwixt clerk and layman in +the ambassadors whom you send to them.” + +“My royal Lord of Rothsay,” said the prior, “if I am destined to the +blessed crown of martyrdom, I shall be doubtless directed to the path +by which I am to attain it. Meantime, if you speak in jest, may Heaven +pardon you, and give you light to perceive that it were better buckle +on your arms to guard the possessions of the church, so perilously +endangered, than to employ your wit in taunting her ministers and +servants.” + +“I taunt no one, father prior,” said the youth, yawning; “Nor have +I much objection to taking arms, excepting that they are a somewhat +cumbrous garb, and in February a furred mantle is more suiting to the +weather than a steel corselet. And it irks me the more to put on cold +harness in this nipping weather, that, would but the church send a +detachment of their saints--and they have some Highland ones well known +in this district, and doubtless used to the climate--they might fight +their own battles, like merry St. George of England. But I know not how +it is, we hear of their miracles when they are propitiated, and of their +vengeance if any one trespasses on their patrimonies, and these are +urged as reasons for extending their lands by large largesses; and yet, +if there come down but a band of twenty Highlanders, bell, book, and +candle make no speed, and the belted baron must be fain to maintain the +church in possession of the lands which he has given to her, as much as +if he himself still enjoyed the fruits of them.” + +“Son David,” said the King, “you give an undue license to your tongue.” + +“Nay, Sir, I am mute,” replied the Prince. “I had no purpose to disturb +your Highness, or displease the father prior, who, with so many miracles +at his disposal, will not face, as it seems, a handful of Highland +caterans.” + +“We know,” said the prior, with suppressed indignation, “from what +source these vile doctrines are derived, which we hear with horror from +the tongue that now utters them. When princes converse with heretics, +their minds and manners are alike corrupted. They show themselves in the +streets as the companions of maskers and harlots, and in the council as +the scorners of the church and of holy things.” + +“Peace, good father!” said the King. “Rothsay shall make amends for +what he has idly spoken. Alas! let us take counsel in friendly fashion, +rather than resemble a mutinous crew of mariners in a sinking vessel, +when each is more intent on quarrelling with his neighbours than in +assisting the exertions of the forlorn master for the safety of the +ship. My Lord of Douglas, your house has been seldom to lack when the +crown of Scotland desired either wise counsel or manly achievement; I +trust you will help us in this strait.” + +“I can only wonder that the strait should exist, my lord,” answered +the haughty Douglas. “When I was entrusted with the lieutenancy of +the kingdom, there were some of these wild clans came down from the +Grampians. I troubled not the council about the matter, but made the +sheriff, Lord Ruthven, get to horse with the forces of the Carse--the +Hays, the Lindsays, the Ogilvies, and other gentlemen. By St. Bride! +When it was steel coat to frieze mantle, the thieves knew what lances +were good for, and whether swords had edges or no. There were some +three hundred of their best bonnets, besides that of their chief, Donald +Cormac, left on the moor of Thorn and in Rochinroy Wood; and as many +were gibbeted at Houghmanstares, which has still the name from the +hangman work that was done there. This is the way men deal with thieves +in my country; and if gentler methods will succeed better with these +Earish knaves, do not blame Douglas for speaking his mind. You smile, +my Lord of Rothsay. May I ask how I have a second time become your jest, +before I have replied to the first which you passed on me?” + +“Nay, be not wrathful, my good Lord of Douglas,” answered the Prince; “I +did but smile to think how your princely retinue would dwindle if every +thief were dealt with as the poor Highlanders at Houghmanstares.” + +The King again interfered, to prevent the Earl from giving an angry +reply. + +“Your lordship,” said he to Douglas, “advises wisely that we should +trust to arms when these men come out against our subjects on the fair +and level plan; but the difficulty is to put a stop to their disorders +while they continue to lurk within their mountains. I need not tell +you that the Clan Chattan and the Clan Quhele are great confederacies, +consisting each of various tribes, who are banded together, each to +support their own separate league, and who of late have had dissensions +which have drawn blood wherever they have met, whether individually or +in bands. The whole country is torn to pieces by their restless feuds.” + +“I cannot see the evil of this,” said the Douglas: “the ruffians will +destroy each other, and the deer of the Highlands will increase as +the men diminish. We shall gain as hunters the exercise we lose as +warriors.” + +“Rather say that the wolves will increase as the men diminish,” replied +the King. + +“I am content,” said Douglas: “better wild wolves than wild caterans. +Let there be strong forces maintained along the Earish frontier, to +separate the quiet from the disturbed country. Confine the fire of civil +war within the Highlands; let it spend its uncontrolled fury, and it +will be soon burnt out for want of fuel. The survivors will be humbled, +and will be more obedient to a whisper of your Grace’s pleasure +than their fathers, or the knaves that now exist, have, been to your +strictest commands.” + +“This is wise but ungodly counsel,” said the prior, shaking his head; “I +cannot take it upon my conscience to recommend it. It is wisdom, but it +is the wisdom of Achitophel, crafty at once and cruel.” + +“My heart tells me so,” said the King, laying his hand on his +breast--“my heart tells me that it will be asked of me at the awful day, +‘Robert Stuart, where are the subjects I have given thee?’ It tells me +that I must account for them all, Saxon and Gael, Lowland, Highland, and +Border man; that I will not be required to answer for those alone who +have wealth and knowledge, but for those also who were robbers because +they were poor, and rebels because they were ignorant.” + +“Your Highness speaks like a Christian king,” said the prior; “but you +bear the sword as well as the sceptre, and this present evil is of a +kind which the sword must cure.” + +“Hark ye, my lords,” said the Prince, looking up as if a gay thought +had suddenly struck him. “Suppose we teach these savage mountaineers +a strain of chivalry? It were no hard matter to bring these two great +commanders, the captain of the Clan Chattan and the chief of the no less +doughty race of the Clan Quhele, to defy each other to mortal combat. +They might fight here in Perth--we would lend them horse and armour; +thus their feud would be stanched by the death of one, or probably both, +of the villains, for I think both would break their necks in the first +charge; my father’s godly desire of saving blood would be attained; and +we should have the pleasure of seeing such a combat between two savage +knights, for the first time in their lives wearing breeches and mounted +on horses, as has not been heard of since the days of King Arthur.” + +“Shame upon you, David!” said the King. “Do you make the distress of +your native country, and the perplexity of our councils, a subject for +buffoonery?” + +“If you will pardon me, royal brother,” said Albany, “I think that, +though my princely nephew hath started this thought in a jocular manner, +there may be something wrought out of it, which might greatly remedy +this pressing evil.” + +“Good brother,” replied the King, “it is unkind to expose Rothsay’s +folly by pressing further his ill timed jest. We know the Highland clans +have not our customs of chivalry, nor the habit or mode of doing battle +which these require.” + +“True, your Grace,” answered Albany; “yet I speak not in scorn, but in +serious earnest. True, the mountaineers have not our forms and mode of +doing battle in the lists, but they have those which are as effectual +to the destruction of human life, and so that the mortal game is played, +and the stake won and lost, what signifies it whether these Gael fight +with sword and lance, as becomes belted knights, or with sandbags, like +the crestless churls of England, or butcher each other with knives and +skenes, in their own barbarous fashion? Their habits, like our own, +refer all disputed rights and claims to the decision of battle. They +are as vain, too, as they are fierce; and the idea that these two clans +would be admitted to combat in presence of your Grace and of your +court will readily induce them to refer their difference to the fate of +battle, even were such rough arbitrement less familiar to their customs, +and that in any such numbers as shall be thought most convenient. We +must take care that they approach not the court, save in such a fashion +and number that they shall not be able to surprise us; and that point +being provided against, the more that shall be admitted to combat upon +either side, the greater will be the slaughter among their bravest and +most stirring men, and the more the chance of the Highlands being quiet +for some time to come.” + +“This were a bloody policy, brother,” said the King; “and again I say, +that I cannot bring my conscience to countenance the slaughter of these +rude men, that are so little better than so many benighted heathens.” + +“And are their lives more precious,” asked Albany, “than those of nobles +and gentlemen who by your Grace’s license are so frequently admitted to +fight in barrace, either for the satisfying of disputes at law or simply +to acquire honour?” + +The King, thus hard pressed, had little to say against a custom so +engrafted upon the laws of the realm and the usages of chivalry as the +trial by combat; and he only replied: “God knows, I have never granted +such license as you urge me with unless with the greatest repugnance; +and that I never saw men have strife together to the effusion of blood, +but I could have wished to appease it with the shedding of my own.” + +“But, my gracious lord,” said the prior, “it seems that, if we follow +not some such policy as this of my Lord of Albany, we must have recourse +to that of the Douglas; and, at the risk of the dubious event of battle, +and with the certainty of losing many excellent subjects, do, by means +of the Lowland swords, that which these wild mountaineers will otherwise +perform with their own hand. What says my Lord of Douglas to the policy +of his Grace of Albany?” + +“Douglas,” said the haughty lord, “never counselled that to be done by +policy which might be attained by open force. He remains by his opinion, +and is willing to march at the head of his own followers, with those +of the barons of Perth shire and the Carse, and either bring these +Highlanders to reason or subjection, or leave the body of a Douglas +among their savage wildernesses.” + +“It is nobly spoken, my Lord of Douglas,” said Albany; “and well might +the King rely upon thy undaunted heart and the courage of thy resolute +followers. But see you not how soon you may be called elsewhere, where +your presence and services are altogether indispensable to Scotland and +her monarch? Marked you not the gloomy tone in which the fiery March +limited his allegiance and faith to our sovereign here present to that +space for which he was to remain King Robert’s vassal? And did not you +yourself suspect that he was plotting a transference of his allegiance +to England? Other chiefs, of subordinate power and inferior fame, may do +battle with the Highlanders; but if Dunbar admit the Percies and their +Englishmen into our frontiers, who will drive them back if the Douglas +be elsewhere?” + +“My sword,” answered Douglas, “is equally at the service of his Majesty +on the frontier or in the deepest recesses of the Highlands. I have seen +the backs of the proud Percy and George of Dunbar ere now, and I may +see them again. And, if it is the King’s pleasure I should take measures +against this probable conjunction of stranger and traitor, I admit that, +rather than trust to an inferior or feebler hand the important task of +settling the Highlands, I would be disposed to give my opinion in favour +of the policy of my Lord of Albany, and suffer those savages to carve +each other’s limbs, without giving barons and knights the trouble of +hunting them down.” + +“My Lord of Douglas,” said the Prince, who seemed determined to omit no +opportunity to gall his haughty father in law, “does not choose to leave +to us Lowlanders even the poor crumbs of honour which might be gathered +at the expense of the Highland kerne, while he, with his Border +chivalry, reaps the full harvest of victory over the English. But Percy +hath seen men’s backs as well as Douglas; and I have known as great +wonders as that he who goes forth to seek such wool should come back +shorn.” + +“A phrase,” said Douglas, “well becoming a prince who speaks of honour +with a wandering harlot’s scrip in his bonnet, by way of favor.” + +“Excuse it, my lord,” said Rothsay: “men who have matched unfittingly +become careless in the choice of those whom they love par amours. The +chained dog must snatch at the nearest bone.” + +“Rothsay, my unhappy son!” exclaimed the King, “art thou mad? or +wouldst thou draw down on thee the full storm of a king and father’s +displeasure?” + +“I am dumb,” returned the Prince, “at your Grace’s command.” + +“Well, then, my Lord of Albany,” said the King, “since such is your +advice, and since Scottish blood must flow, how, I pray you, are we to +prevail on these fierce men to refer their quarrel to such a combat as +you propose?” + +“That, my liege,” said Albany, “must be the result of more mature +deliberation. But the task will not be difficult. Gold will be needful +to bribe some of the bards and principal counsellors and spokesmen. The +chiefs, moreover, of both these leagues must be made to understand that, +unless they agree to this amicable settlement--” + +“Amicable, brother!” said the King, with emphasis. + +“Ay, amicable, my liege,” replied his brother, “since it is better the +country were placed in peace, at the expense of losing a score or two of +Highland kernes, than remain at war till as many thousands are destroyed +by sword, fire, famine, and all the extremities of mountain battle. +To return to the purpose: I think that the first party to whom the +accommodation is proposed will snatch at it eagerly; that the other will +be ashamed to reject an offer to rest the cause on the swords of their +bravest men; that the national vanity, and factious hate to each other, +will prevent them from seeing our purpose in adopting such a rule of +decision; and that they will be more eager to cut each other to pieces +than we can be to halloo them on. And now, as our counsels are finished, +so far as I can aid, I will withdraw.” + +“Stay yet a moment,” said the prior, “for I also have a grief to +disclose, of a nature so black and horrible, that your Grace’s pious +heart will hardly credit its existence, and I state it mournfully, +because, as certain as that I am an unworthy servant of St. Dominic, it +is the cause of the displeasure of Heaven against this poor country, by +which our victories are turned into defeat, our gladness into mourning, +our councils distracted with disunion, and our country devoured by civil +war.” + +“Speak, reverend prior,” said the King; “assuredly, if the cause of +such evils be in me or in my house, I will take instant care to their +removal.” + +He uttered these words with a faltering voice, and eagerly waited for +the prior’s reply, in the dread, no doubt, that it might implicate +Rothsay in some new charge of folly or vice. His apprehensions perhaps +deceived him, when he thought he saw the churchman’s eye rest for a +moment on the Prince, before he said, in a solemn tone, “Heresy, my +noble and gracious liege--heresy is among us. She snatches soul after +soul from the congregation, as wolves steal lambs from the sheep fold.” + +“There are enough of shepherds to watch the fold,” answered the Duke of +Rothsay. “Here are four convents of regular monks alone around this poor +hamlet of Perth, and all the secular clergy besides. Methinks a town so +well garrisoned should be fit to keep out an enemy.” + +“One traitor in a garrison, my lord,” answered the prior, “can do much +to destroy the security of a city which is guarded by legions; and if +that one traitor is, either from levity, or love of novelty, or whatever +other motive, protected and fostered by those who should be most eager +to expel him from the fortress, his opportunities of working mischief +will be incalculably increased.” + +“Your words seem to aim at some one in this presence, father prior,” + said the Douglas; “if at me, they do me foul wrong. I am well aware that +the abbot of Aberbrothock hath made some ill advised complaints, that +I suffered not his beeves to become too many for his pastures, or his +stock of grain to burst the girnels of the monastery, while my followers +lacked beef and their horses corn. But bethink you, the pastures and +cornfields which produced that plenty were bestowed by my ancestors +on the house of Aberbrothock, surely not with the purpose that their +descendant should starve in the midst of it; and neither will he, by St. +Bride! But for heresy and false doctrine,” he added, striking his large +hand heavily on the council table, “who is it that dare tax the Douglas? +I would not have poor men burned for silly thoughts; but my hand and +sword are ever ready to maintain the Christian faith.” + +“My lord, I doubt it not,” said the prior; “so hath it ever been with +your most noble house. For the abbot’s complaints, they may pass to a +second day. But what we now desire is a commission to some noble lord of +state, joined to others of Holy Church, to support by strength of hand, +if necessary, the inquiries which the reverend official of the bounds, +and other grave prelates, my unworthy self being one, are about to make +into the cause of the new doctrines, which are now deluding the simple, +and depraving the pure and precious faith, approved by the Holy Father +and his reverend predecessors.” + +“Let the Earl of Douglas have a royal commission to this effect,” said +Albany; “and let there be no exception whatever from his jurisdiction, +saving the royal person. For my own part, although conscious that I have +neither in act nor thought received or encouraged a doctrine which Holy +Church hath not sanctioned, yet I should blush to claim an immunity +under the blood royal of Scotland, lest I should seem to be seeking +refuge against a crime so horrible.” + +“I will have nought to do with it,” said Douglas: “to march against +the English, and the Southron traitor March, is task enough for me. +Moreover, I am a true Scotsman, and will not give way to aught that may +put the Church of Scotland’s head farther into the Roman yoke, or make +the baron’s coronet stoop to the mitre and cowl. Do you, therefore, most +noble Duke of Albany, place your own name in the commission; and I pray +your Grace so to mitigate the zeal of the men of Holy Church who may +be associated with you, that there be no over zealous dealings; for the +smell of a fagot on the Tay would bring back the Douglas from the walls +of York.” + +The Duke hastened to give the Earl assurance that the commission should +be exercised with lenity and moderation. + +“Without a question,” said King Robert, “the commission must be ample; +and did it consist with the dignity of our crown, we would not ourselves +decline its jurisdiction. But we trust that, while the thunders of +the church are directed against the vile authors of these detestable +heresies, there shall be measures of mildness and compassion taken with +the unfortunate victims of their delusions.” + +“Such is ever the course of Holy Church, my lord,” said the prior of St. +Dominic’s. + +“Why, then, let the commission be expedited with due care, in name of +our brother Albany, and such others as shall be deemed convenient,” said +the King. “And now once again let us break up our council; and, Rothsay, +come thou with me, and lend me thine arm; I have matter for thy private +ear.” + +“Ho, la!” here exclaimed the Prince, in the tone in which he would have +addressed a managed horse. + +“What means this rudeness, boy?” said the King; “wilt thou never learn +reason and courtesy?” + +“Let me not be thought to offend, my liege,” said the Prince; “but we +are parting without learning what is to be done in the passing strange +adventure of the dead hand, which the Douglas hath so gallantly taken +up. We shall sit but uncomfortably here at Perth, if we are at variance +with the citizens.” + +“Leave that to me,” said Albany. “With some little grant of lands and +money, and plenty of fair words, the burghers may be satisfied for this +time; but it were well that the barons and their followers, who are in +attendance on the court, were warned to respect the peace within burgh.” + +“Surely, we would have it so,” said the King; “let strict orders be +given accordingly.” + +“It is doing the churls but too much grace,” said the Douglas; “but be +it at your Highness’s pleasure. I take leave to retire.” + +“Not before you taste a flagon of Gascon wine, my lord?” said the King. + +“Pardon,” replied the Earl, “I am not athirst, and I drink not for +fashion, but either for need or for friendship.” So saying, he departed. + +The King, as if relieved by his absence, turned to Albany, and said: +“And now, my lord, we should chide this truant Rothsay of ours; yet he +hath served us so well at council, that we must receive his merits as +some atonement for his follies.” + +“I am happy to hear it,” answered Albany, with a countenance of pity and +incredulity, as if he knew nothing of the supposed services. + +“Nay, brother, you are dull,” said the King, “for I will not think you +envious. Did you not note that Rothsay was the first to suggest the mode +of settling the Highlands, which your experience brought indeed into +better shape, and which was generally approved of; and even now we had +broken up, leaving a main matter unconsidered, but that he put us in +mind of the affray with the citizens?” + +“I nothing doubt, my liege,” said the Duke of Albany, with the +acquiescence which he saw was expected, “that my royal nephew will soon +emulate his father’s wisdom.” + +“Or,” said the Duke of Rothsay, “I may find it easier to borrow +from another member of my family that happy and comfortable cloak of +hypocrisy which covers all vices, and then it signifies little whether +they exist or not.” + +“My lord prior,” said the Duke, addressing the Dominican, “we will for a +moment pray your reverence’s absence. The King and I have that to say to +the Prince which must have no further audience, not even yours.” + +The Dominican bowed and withdrew. + +When the two royal brothers and the Prince were left together, the King +seemed in the highest degree embarrassed and distressed, Albany sullen +and thoughtful, while Rothsay himself endeavoured to cover some anxiety +under his usual appearance of levity. There was a silence of a minute. +At length Albany spoke. + +“Royal brother,” he said, “my princely nephew entertains with so much +suspicion any admonition coming from my mouth, that I must pray your +Grace yourself to take the trouble of telling him what it is most +fitting he should know.” + +“It must be some unpleasing communication indeed, which my Lord of +Albany cannot wrap up in honied words,” said the Prince. + +“Peace with thine effrontery, boy,” answered the King, passionately. +“You asked but now of the quarrel with the citizens. Who caused that +quarrel, David? What men were those who scaled the window of a peaceful +citizen and liege man, alarmed the night with torch and outcry, and +subjected our subjects to danger and affright?” + +“More fear than danger, I fancy,” answered the Prince; “but how can I of +all men tell who made this nocturnal disturbance?” + +“There was a follower of thine own there,” continued the King--“a man of +Belial, whom I will have brought to condign punishment.” + +“I have no follower, to my knowledge, capable of deserving your +Highness’s displeasure,” answered the Prince. + +“I will have no evasions, boy. Where wert thou on St. Valentine’s Eve?” + +“It is to be hoped that I was serving the good saint, as a man of mould +might,” answered the young man, carelessly. + +“Will my royal nephew tell us how his master of the horse was employed +upon that holy eve?” said the Duke of Albany. + +“Speak, David; I command thee to speak,” said the King. + +“Ramorny was employed in my service, I think that answer may satisfy my +uncle.” + +“But it will not satisfy me,” said the angry father. “God knows, I never +coveted man’s blood, but that Ramorny’s head I will have, if law can +give it. He has been the encourager and partaker of all thy numerous +vices and follies. I will take care he shall be so no more. Call +MacLouis, with a guard.” + +“Do not injure an innocent man,” interposed the Prince, desirous at +every sacrifice to preserve his favourite from the menaced danger: “I +pledge my word that Ramorny was employed in business of mine, therefore +could not be engaged in this brawl.” + +“False equivocator that thou art!” said the King, presenting to the +Prince a ring, “behold the signet of Ramorny, lost in the infamous +affray! It fell into the hands of a follower of the Douglas, and was +given by the Earl to my brother. Speak not for Ramorny, for he dies; and +go thou from my presence, and repent the flagitious counsels which could +make thee stand before me with a falsehood in thy mouth. Oh, shame, +David--shame! as a son thou hast lied to thy father, as a knight to the +head of thy order.” + +The Prince stood mute, conscience struck, and self convicted. He then +gave way to the honourable feelings which at bottom he really possessed, +and threw himself at his father’s feet. + +“The false knight,” he said, “deserves degradation, the disloyal subject +death; but, oh! let the son crave from the father pardon for the servant +who did not lead him into guilt, but who reluctantly plunged himself +into it at his command. Let me bear the weight of my own folly, but +spare those who have been my tools rather than my accomplices. Remember, +Ramorny was preferred to my service by my sainted mother.” + +“Name her not, David, I charge thee,” said the King; “she is happy that +she never saw the child of her love stand before her doubly dishonoured +by guilt and by falsehood.” + +“I am indeed unworthy to name her,” said the Prince; “and yet, my dear +father, in her name I must petition for Ramorny’s life.” + +“If I might offer my counsel,” said the Duke of Albany, who saw that +a reconciliation would soon take place betwixt the father and son, “I +would advise that Ramorny be dismissed from the Prince’s household and +society, with such further penalty as his imprudence may seem to merit. +The public will be contented with his disgrace, and the matter will be +easily accommodated or stifled, so that his Highness do not attempt to +screen his servant.” + +“Wilt thou, for my sake, David,” said the King, with a faltering voice +and the tear in his eye, “dismiss this dangerous man?--for my sake, who +could not refuse thee the heart out of my bosom?” + +“It shall be done, my father--done instantly,” the Prince replied; and +seizing the pen, he wrote a hasty dismissal of Ramorny from his service, +and put it into Albany’s hands. “I would I could fulfil all your wishes +as easily, my royal father,” he added, again throwing himself at the +King’s feet, who raised him up and fondly folded him in his arms. + +Albany scowled, but was silent; and it was not till after the space of a +minute or two that he said: “This matter being so happily accommodated, +let me ask if your Majesty is pleased to attend the evensong service in +the chapel?” + +“Surely,” said the King. “Have I not thanks to pay to God, who has +restored union to my family? You will go with us, brother?” + +“So please your Grace to give me leave of absence--no,” said the Duke. +“I must concert with the Douglas and others the manner in which we may +bring these Highland vultures to our lure.” + +Albany retired to think over his ambitious projects, while the +father and son attended divine service, to thank God for their happy +reconciliation. + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + Will you go to the Hielands, Lizzy Lyndesay, + Will you go the Hielands wi’ me? + Will you go to the Hielands, Lizzy Lyndesay, + My bride and my darling to be? + + Old Ballad. + + +A former chapter opened in the royal confessional; we are now to +introduce our readers to a situation somewhat similar, though the +scene and persons were very different. Instead of a Gothic and darkened +apartment in a monastery, one of the most beautiful prospects in +Scotland lay extended beneath the hill of Kinnoul, and at the foot of +a rock which commanded the view in every direction sat the Fair Maid of +Perth, listening in an attitude of devout attention to the instructions +of a Carthusian monk, in his white gown and scapular, who concluded his +discourse with prayer, in which his proselyte devoutly joined. + +When they had finished their devotions, the priest sat for some time +with his eyes fixed on the glorious prospect, of which even the early +and chilly season could not conceal the beauties, and it was some time +ere he addressed his attentive companion. + +“When I behold,” he said at length, “this rich and varied land, with its +castles, churches, convents, stately palaces, and fertile fields, these +extensive woods, and that noble river, I know not, my daughter, whether +most to admire the bounty of God or the ingratitude of man. He hath +given us the beauty and fertility of the earth, and we have made the +scene of his bounty a charnel house and a battlefield. He hath given +us power over the elements, and skill to erect houses for comfort and +defence, and we have converted them into dens for robbers and ruffians.” + +“Yet, surely, my father, there is room for comfort,” replied Catharine, +“even in the very prospect we look upon. Yonder four goodly convents, +with their churches, and their towers, which tell the citizens with +brazen voice that they should think on their religious duties; their +inhabitants, who have separated themselves from the world, its pursuits +and its pleasures, to dedicate themselves to the service of Heaven--all +bear witness that, if Scotland be a bloody and a sinful land, she is +yet alive and sensible to the claims which religion demands of the human +race.” + +“Verily, daughter,” answered the priest, “what you say seems truth; and +yet, nearly viewed, too much of the comfort you describe will be found +delusive. It is true, there was a period in the Christian world when +good men, maintaining themselves by the work of their hands, assembled +together, not that they might live easily or sleep softly, but that +they might strengthen each other in the Christian faith, and qualify +themselves to be teachers of the Word to the people. Doubtless there are +still such to be found in the holy edifices on which we now look. But it +is to be feared that the love of many has waxed cold. Our churchmen have +become wealthy, as well by the gifts of pious persons as by the bribes +which wicked men have given in their ignorance, imagining that they can +purchase that pardon by endowments to the church which Heaven has only +offered to sincere penitents. And thus, as the church waxeth rich, her +doctrines have unhappily become dim and obscure, as a light is less +seen if placed in a lamp of chased gold than beheld through a screen +of glass. God knows, if I see these things and mark them, it is from no +wish of singularity or desire to make myself a teacher in Israel; but +because the fire burns in my bosom, and will not permit me to be +silent. I obey the rules of my order, and withdraw not myself from +its austerities. Be they essential to our salvation, or be they mere +formalities, adopted to supply the want of real penitence and sincere +devotion, I have promised, nay, vowed, to observe them; and they shall +be respected by me the more, that otherwise I might be charged with +regarding my bodily ease, when Heaven is my witness how lightly I value +what I may be called on to act or suffer, if the purity of the church +could be restored, or the discipline of the priesthood replaced in its +primitive simplicity.” + +“But, my father,” said Catharine, “even for these opinions men term +you a Lollard and a Wickliffite, and say it is your desire to destroy +churches and cloisters, and restore the religion of heathenesse.” + +“Even so, my daughter, am I driven to seek refuge in hills and rocks, +and must be presently contented to take my flight amongst the rude +Highlanders, who are thus far in a more gracious state than those +I leave behind me, that theirs are crimes of ignorance, not of +presumption. I will not omit to take such means of safety and escape +from their cruelty as Heaven may open to me; for, while such appear, I +shall account it a sign that I have still a service to accomplish. But +when it is my Master’s pleasure, He knows how willingly Clement Blair +will lay down a vilified life upon earth, in humble hope of a blessed +exchange hereafter. But wherefore dost thou look northward so anxiously, +my child? Thy young eyes are quicker than mine--dost thou see any one +coming?” + +“I look, father, for the Highland youth, Conachar, who will be thy +guide to the hills, where his father can afford thee a safe, if a rude, +retreat. This he has often promised, when we spoke of you and of your +lessons. I fear he is now in company where he will soon forget them.” + +“The youth hath sparkles of grace in him,” said Father Clement; +“although those of his race are usually too much devoted to their own +fierce and savage customs to endure with patience either the restraints +of religion or those of the social law. Thou hast never told me, +daughter, how, contrary to all the usages either of the burgh or of the +mountains, this youth came to reside in thy father’s house?” + +“All I know touching that matter,” said Catharine, “is, that his father +is a man of consequence among those hill men, and that he desired as a +favour of my father, who hath had dealings with them in the way of his +merchandise, to keep this youth for a certain time, and that it is only +two days since they parted, as Conachar was to return home to his own +mountains.” + +“And why has my daughter,” demanded the priest, “maintained such a +correspondence with this Highland youth, that she should know how to +send for him when she desired to use his services in my behalf? Surely, +this is much influence for a maiden to possess over such a wild colt as +this youthful mountaineer.” + +Catharine blushed, and answered with hesitation: “If I have had any +influence with Conachar, Heaven be my witness, I have only exerted it to +enforce upon his fiery temper compliance with the rules of civil life. +It is true, I have long expected that you, my father, would be obliged +to take to flight, and I therefore had agreed with him that he should +meet me at this place as soon as he should receive a message from +me with a token, which I yesterday despatched. The messenger was a +lightfooted boy of his own clan, whom he used sometimes to send on +errands into the Highlands.” + +“And am I then to understand, daughter, that this youth, so fair to the +eye, was nothing more dear to you than as you desired to enlighten his +mind and reform his manners?” + +“It is so, my father, and no otherwise,” answered Catharine; “and +perhaps I did not do well to hold intimacy with him, even for his +instruction and improvement. But my discourse never led farther.” + +“Then have I been mistaken, my daughter; for I thought I had seen in +thee of late some change of purpose, and some wishful regards looking +back to this world, of which you were at one time resolved to take +leave.” + +Catharine hung down her head and blushed more deeply than ever as she +said: “Yourself, father, were used to remonstrate against my taking the +veil.” + +“Nor do I now approve of it, my child,” said the priest. “Marriage is an +honourable state, appointed by Heaven as the regular means of continuing +the race of man; and I read not in the Scriptures what human inventions +have since affirmed concerning the superior excellence of a state of +celibacy. But I am jealous of thee, my child, as a father is of his only +daughter, lest thou shouldst throw thyself away upon some one unworthy +of thee. Thy parent, I know, less nice in thy behalf than I am, +countenances the addresses of that fierce and riotous reveller whom they +call Henry of the Wynd. He is rich it may be; but a haunter of idle and +debauched company--a common prizefighter, who has shed human blood like +water. Can such a one be a fit mate for Catharine Glover? And yet report +says they are soon to be united.” + +The Fair Maid of Perth’s complexion changed from red to pale, and from +pale to red, as she hastily replied: “I think not of him; though it is +true some courtesies have passed betwixt us of late, both as he is my +father’s friend and as being according to the custom of the time, my +Valentine.” + +“Your Valentine, my child!” said Father Clement. “And can your modesty +and prudence have trifled so much with the delicacy of your sex as to +place yourself in such a relation to such a man as this artificer? Think +you that this Valentine, a godly saint and Christian bishop, as he is +said to have been, ever countenanced a silly and unseemly custom, more +likely to have originated in the heathen worship of Flora or Venus, +when mortals gave the names of deities to their passions; and studied to +excite instead of restraining them?” + +“Father,” said Catharine, in a tone of more displeasure than she had +ever before assumed to the Carthusian, “I know not upon what ground you +tax me thus severely for complying with a general practice, authorised +by universal custom and sanctioned by my father’s authority. I cannot +feel it kind that you put such misconstruction upon me.” + +“Forgive me, daughter,” answered the priest, mildly, “if I have given +you offence. But this Henry Gow, or Smith, is a forward, licentious +man, to whom you cannot allow any uncommon degree of intimacy +and encouragement, without exposing yourself to worse +misconstruction--unless, indeed, it be your purpose to wed him, and that +very shortly.” + +“Say no more of it, my father,” said Catharine. “You give me more pain +than you would desire to do; and I may be provoked to answer otherwise +than as becomes me. Perhaps I have already had cause enough to make +me repent my compliance with an idle custom. At any rate, believe that +Henry Smith is nothing to me, and that even the idle intercourse arising +from St. Valentine’s Day is utterly broken off.” + +“I am rejoiced to hear it, my daughter,” replied the Carthusian, “and +must now prove you on another subject, which renders me most anxious on +your behalf. You cannot your self be ignorant of it, although I could +wish it were not necessary to speak of a thing so dangerous, even, +before these surrounding rocks, cliffs, and stones. But it must be said. +Catharine, you have a lover in the highest rank of Scotland’s sons of +honour?” + +“I know it, father,” answered Catharine, composedly. “I would it were +not so.” + +“So would I also,” said the priest, “did I see in my daughter only the +child of folly, which most young women are at her age, especially if +possessed of the fatal gift of beauty. But as thy charms, to speak the +language of an idle world, have attached to thee a lover of such high +rank, so I know that thy virtue and wisdom will maintain the influence +over the Prince’s mind which thy beauty hath acquired.” + +“Father,” replied Catharine, “the Prince is a licentious gallant, whose +notice of me tends only to my disgrace and ruin. Can you, who seemed +but now afraid that I acted imprudently in entering into an ordinary +exchange of courtesies with one of my own rank, speak with patience of +the sort of correspondence which the heir of Scotland dares to fix +upon me? Know that it is but two nights since he, with a party of his +debauched followers, would have carried me by force from my father’s +house, had I not been rescued by that same rash spirited Henry Smith, +who, if he be too hasty in venturing on danger on slight occasion, is +always ready to venture his life in behalf of innocence or in resistance +of oppression. It is well my part to do him that justice.” + +“I should know something of that matter,” said the monk, “since it was +my voice that sent him to your assistance. I had seen the party as I +passed your door, and was hastening to the civil power in order to raise +assistance, when I perceived a man’s figure coming slowly towards me. +Apprehensive it might be one of the ambuscade, I stepped behind the +buttresses of the chapel of St. John, and seeing from a nearer view +that it was Henry Smith, I guessed which way he was bound, and raised my +voice, in an exhortation which made him double his speed.” + +“I am beholden to you, father,” said Catharine; “but all this, and the +Duke of Rothsay’s own language to me, only show that the Prince is a +profligate young man, who will scruple no extremities which may promise +to gratify an idle passion, at whatever expense to its object. His +emissary, Ramorny, has even had the insolence to tell me that my father +shall suffer for it if I dare to prefer being the wife of an honest man +to becoming the loose paramour of a married prince. So I see no other +remedy than to take the veil, or run the risk of my own ruin and my poor +father’s. Were there no other reason, the terror of these threats, +from a man so notoriously capable of keeping his word, ought as much to +prevent my becoming the bride of any worthy man as it should prohibit me +from unlatching his door to admit murderers. Oh, good father, what a lot +is mine! and how fatal am I likely to prove to my affectionate parent, +and to any one with whom I might ally my unhappy fortunes!” + +“Be yet of good cheer, my daughter,” said the monk; “there is comfort +for thee even in this extremity of apparent distress. Ramorny is a +villain, and abuses the ear of his patron. The Prince is unhappily a +dissipated and idle youth; but, unless my grey hairs have been strangely +imposed on, his character is beginning to alter. He hath been awakened +to Ramorny’s baseness, and deeply regrets having followed his evil +advice. I believe, nay, I am well convinced, that his passion for you +has assumed a nobler and purer character, and that the lessons he has +heard from me on the corruptions of the church and of the times will, if +enforced from your lips, sink deeply into his heart, and perhaps produce +fruits for the world to wonder as well as rejoice at. Old prophecies +have said that Rome shall fall by the speech of a woman.” + +“These are dreams, father,” said Catharine--“the visions of one whose +thoughts are too much on better things to admit his thinking justly +upon the ordinary affairs of Perth. When we have looked long at the sun, +everything else can only be seen indistinctly.” + +“Thou art over hasty, my daughter,” said Clement, “and thou shalt be +convinced of it. The prospects which I am to open to thee were unfit to +be exposed to one of a less firm sense of virtue, or a more ambitious +temper. Perhaps it is not fit that, even to you, I should display them; +but my confidence is strong in thy wisdom and thy principles. Know, +then, that there is much chance that the Church of Rome will dissolve +the union which she has herself formed, and release the Duke of Rothsay +from his marriage with Marjory Douglas.” + +Here he paused. + +“And if the church hath power and will to do this,” replied the maiden, +“what influence can the divorce of the Duke from his wife produce on the +fortunes of Catharine Glover?” + +She looked at the priest anxiously as she spoke, and he had some +apparent difficulty in framing his reply, for he looked on the ground +while he answered her. + +“What did beauty do for Catharine Logie? Unless our fathers have told us +falsely, it raised her to share the throne of David Bruce.” + +“Did she live happy or die regretted, good father?” asked Catharine, in +the same calm and steady tone. + +“She formed her alliance from temporal, and perhaps criminal, ambition,” + replied Father Clement; “and she found her reward in vanity and vexation +of spirit. But had she wedded with the purpose that the believing wife +should convert the unbelieving, or confirm the doubting, husband, what +then had been her reward? Love and honour upon earth, and an inheritance +in Heaven with Queen Margaret and those heroines who have been the +nursing mothers of the church.” + +Hitherto Catharine had sat upon a stone beside the priest’s feet, and +looked up to him as she spoke or listened; but now, as if animated +by calm, yet settled, feelings of disapprobation, she rose up, and, +extending her hand towards the monk as she spoke, addressed him with +a countenance and voice which might have become a cherub, pitying, +and even as much as possible sparing, the feelings of the mortal whose +errors he is commissioned to rebuke. + +“And is it even so?” she said, “and can so much of the wishes, hopes, +and prejudices of this vile world affect him who may be called tomorrow +to lay down his life for opposing the corruptions of a wicked age and +backsliding priesthood? Can it be the severely virtuous Father Clement +who advises his child to aim at, or even to think of, the possession of +a throne and a bed which cannot become vacant but by an act of crying +injustice to the present possessor? Can it be the wise reformer of +the church who wishes to rest a scheme, in itself so unjust, upon +a foundation so precarious? Since when is it, good father, that the +principal libertine has altered his morals so much, to be likely to +court in honourable fashion the daughter of a Perth artisan? Two days +must have wrought this change; for only that space has passed since he +was breaking into my father’s house at midnight, with worse mischief in +his mind than that of a common robber. And think you that, if Rothsay’s +heart could dictate so mean a match, he could achieve such a purpose +without endangering both his succession and his life, assailed by the +Douglas and March at the same time, for what they must receive as an act +of injury and insult to both their houses? Oh! Father Clement, where +was your principle, where your prudence, when they suffered you to +be bewildered by so strange a dream, and placed the meanest of your +disciples in the right thus to reproach you?” + +The old man’s eyes filled with tears, as Catharine, visibly and +painfully affected by what she had said, became at length silent. + +“By the mouths of babes and sucklings,” he said, “hath He rebuked those +who would seem wise in their generation. I thank Heaven, that hath +taught me better thoughts than my own vanity suggested, through the +medium of so kind a monitress. Yes, Catharine, I must not hereafter +wonder or exclaim when I see those whom I have hitherto judged too +harshly struggling for temporal power, and holding all the while the +language of religious zeal. I thank thee, daughter, for thy salutary +admonition, and I thank Heaven that sent it by thy lips, rather than +those of a stern reprover.” + +Catharine had raised her head to reply, and bid the old man, whose +humiliation gave her pain, be comforted, when her eyes were arrested +by an object close at hand. Among the crags and cliffs which surrounded +this place of seclusion, there were two which stood in such close +contiguity, that they seemed to have been portions of the same rock, +which, rendered by lightning or by an earthquake, now exhibited a chasm +of about four feet in breadth, betwixt the masses of stone. Into this +chasm an oak tree had thrust itself, in one of the fantastic frolics +which vegetation often exhibits in such situations. The tree, stunted +and ill fed, had sent its roots along the face of the rock in all +directions to seek for supplies, and they lay like military lines of +communication, contorted, twisted, and knotted like the immense snakes +of the Indian archipelago. As Catharine’s look fell upon the curious +complication of knotty branches and twisted roots, she was suddenly +sensible that two large eyes were visible among them, fixed and glaring +at her, like those of a wild animal in ambush. She started, and, without +speaking, pointed out the object to her companion, and looking herself +with more strict attention, could at length trace out the bushy red +hair and shaggy beard, which had hitherto been concealed by the drooping +branches and twisted roots of the tree. + +When he saw himself discovered, the Highlander, for such he proved, +stepped forth from his lurking place, and, stalking forward, displayed +a colossal person, clothed in a purple, red, and green checked plaid, +under which he wore a jacket of bull’s hide. His bow and arrows were at +his back, his head was bare, and a large quantity of tangled locks, like +the glibbs of the Irish, served to cover the head, and supplied all the +purposes of a bonnet. His belt bore a sword and dagger, and he had in +his hand a Danish pole axe, more recently called a Lochaber axe. Through +the same rude portal advanced, one by one, four men more, of similar +size, and dressed and armed in the same manner. + +Catharine was too much accustomed to the appearance of the inhabitants +of the mountains so near to Perth to permit herself to be alarmed, as +another Lowland maiden might have been on the same occasion. She saw +with tolerable composure these gigantic forms arrange themselves in a +semicircle around and in front of the monk and herself, all bending upon +them in silence their large fixed eyes, expressing, as far as she could +judge, a wild admiration of her beauty. She inclined her head to them, +and uttered imperfectly the usual words of a Highland salutation. The +elder and leader of the party returned the greeting, and then again +remained silent and motionless. The monk told his beads; and even +Catharine began to have strange fears for her personal safety, and +anxiety to know whether they were to consider themselves at personal +freedom. She resolved to make the experiment, and moved forward as if +to descend the hill; but when she attempted to pass the line of +Highlanders, they extended their poleaxes betwixt each other, so as +effectually to occupy each opening through which she could have passed. + +Somewhat disconcerted, yet not dismayed, for she could not conceive that +any evil was intended, she sat down upon one of the scattered fragments +of rock, and bade the monk, standing by her side, be of good courage. + +“If I fear,” said Father Clement, “it is not for myself; for whether I +be brained with the axes of these wild men, like an ox when, worn out +by labour, he is condemned to the slaughter, or whether I am bound with +their bowstrings, and delivered over to those who will take my life with +more cruel ceremony, it can but little concern me, if they suffer thee, +dearest daughter, to escape uninjured.” + +“We have neither of us,” replied the Maiden of Perth, “any cause for +apprehending evil; and here comes Conachar to assure us of it.” + +Yet, as she spoke, she almost doubted her own eyes; so altered were +the manner and attire of the handsome, stately, and almost splendidly +dressed youth who, springing like a roebuck from a cliff of considerable +height, lighted just in front of her. His dress was of the same tartan +worn by those who had first made their appearance, but closed at the +throat and elbows with a necklace and armlets of gold. The hauberk which +he wore over his person was of steel, but so clearly burnished that it +shone like silver. His arms were profusely ornamented, and his bonnet, +besides the eagle’s feather marking the quality of chief, was adorned +with a chain of gold, wrapt several times around it, and secured by a +large clasp, glistening with pearls. His brooch, by which the tartan +mantle, or plaid, as it is now called, was secured on the shoulder, was +also of gold, large and curiously carved. He bore no weapon in his hand, +excepting a small sapling stick with a hooked head. His whole appearance +and gait, which used formerly to denote a sullen feeling of conscious +degradation, was now bold, forward, and haughty; and he stood before +Catharine with smiling confidence, as if fully conscious of his improved +appearance, and waiting till she should recognise him. + +“Conachar,” said Catharine, desirous to break this state of suspense, +“are these your father’s men?” + +“No, fair Catharine,” answered the young man. “Conachar is no more, +unless in regard to the wrongs he has sustained, and the vengeance +which they demand. I am Ian Eachin MacIan, son to the chief of the Clan +Quhele. I have moulted my feathers, as you see, when I changed my name. +And for these men, they are not my father’s followers, but mine. You +see only one half of them collected: they form a band consisting of my +foster father and eight sons, who are my bodyguard, and the children of +my belt, who breathe but to do my will. But Conachar,” he added, in a +softer tone of voice, “lives again so soon as Catharine desires to see +him; and while he is the young chief of the Clan Quhele to all others, +he is to her as humble and obedient as when he was Simon Glover’s +apprentice. See, here is the stick I had from you when we nutted +together in the sunny braes of Lednoch, when autumn was young in the +year that is gone. I would not exchange it, Catharine, for the truncheon +of my tribe.” + +While Eachin thus spoke, Catharine began to doubt in her own mind +whether she had acted prudently in requesting the assistance of a bold +young man, elated, doubtless, by his sudden elevation from a state of +servitude to one which she was aware gave him extensive authority over a +very lawless body of adherents. + +“You do not fear me, fair Catharine?” said the young chief, taking her +hand. “I suffered my people to appear before you for a few minutes, +that I might see how you could endure their presence; and methinks you +regarded them as if you were born to be a chieftain’s wife.” + +“I have no reason to fear wrong from Highlanders,” said Catharine, +firmly; “especially as I thought Conachar was with them. Conachar has +drunk of our cup and eaten of our bread; and my father has often had +traffic with Highlanders, and never was there wrong or quarrel betwixt +him and them.” + +“No?” replied Hector, for such is the Saxon equivalent for Eachin, +“what! never when he took the part of the Gow Chrom (the bandy legged +smith) against Eachin MacIan? Say nothing to excuse it, and believe it +will be your own fault if I ever again allude to it. But you had some +command to lay upon me; speak, and you shall be obeyed.” + +Catharine hastened to reply; for there was something in the young +chief’s manner and language which made her desire to shorten the +interview. + +“Eachin,” she said, “since Conachar is no longer your name, you ought +to be sensible that in claiming, as I honestly might, a service from my +equal, I little thought that I was addressing a person of such superior +power and consequence. You, as well as I, have been obliged to the +religious instruction of this good man. He is now in great danger: +wicked men have accused him with false charges, and he is desirous to +remain in safety and concealment till the storm shall pass away.” + +“Ha! the good clerk Clement! Ay, the worthy clerk did much for me, and +more than my rugged temper was capable to profit by. I will be glad to +see any one in the town of Perth persecute one who hath taken hold of +MacIan’s mantle!” + +“It may not be safe to trust too much to that,” said Catharine. “I +nothing doubt the power of your tribe; but when the Black Douglas takes +up a feud, he is not to be scared by the shaking of a Highland plaid.” + +The Highlander disguised his displeasure at this speech with a forced +laugh. + +“The sparrow,” he said, “that is next the eye seems larger than the +eagle that is perched on Bengoile. You fear the Douglasses most, because +they sit next to you. But be it as you will. You will not believe how +wide our hills, and vales, and forests extend beyond the dusky barrier +of yonder mountains, and you think all the world lies on the banks of +the Tay. But this good clerk shall see hills that could hide him were +all the Douglasses on his quest--ay, and he shall see men enough also +to make them glad to get once more southward of the Grampians. And +wherefore should you not go with the good man? I will send a party to +bring him in safety from Perth, and we will set up the old trade beyond +Loch Tay--only no more cutting out of gloves for me. I will find your +father in hides, but I will not cut them, save when they are on the +creatures’ backs.” + +“My father will come one day and see your housekeeping, Conachar--I +mean, Hector. But times must be quieter, for there is feud between the +townspeople and the followers of the noblemen, and there is speech of +war about to break out in the Highlands.” + +“Yes, by Our Lady, Catharine! and were it not for that same Highland +war, you should nor thus put off your Highland visit, my pretty +mistress. But the race of the hills are no longer to be divided into two +nations. They will fight like men for the supremacy, and he who gets it +will deal with the King of Scotland as an equal, not as a superior. Pray +that the victory may fall to MacIan, my pious St. Catharine, for thou +shalt pray for one who loves thee dearly.” + +“I will pray for the right,” said Catharine; “or rather, I will pray +that there be peace on all sides. Farewell, kind and excellent Father +Clement. Believe I shall never forget thy lessons; remember me in thy +prayers. But how wilt thou be able to sustain a journey so toilsome?” + +“They shall carry him if need be,” said Hector, “if we go far without +finding a horse for him. But you, Catharine--it is far from hence to +Perth. Let me attend you thither as I was wont.” + +“If you were as you were wont, I would not refuse your escort. But gold +brooches and bracelets are perilous company, when the Liddesdale and +Annandale lancers are riding as throng upon the highway as the leaves +at Hallowmass; and there is no safe meeting betwixt Highland tartans and +steel jackets.” + +She hazarded this remark, as she somewhat suspected that, in casting his +slough, young Eachin had not entirely surmounted the habits which he had +acquired in his humbler state, and that, though he might use bold words, +he would not be rash enough to brave the odds of numbers, to which a +descent into the vicinity of the city would be likely to expose him. It +appeared that she judged correctly; for, after a farewell, in which she +compounded for the immunity of her lips by permitting him to kiss her +hand, she returned towards Perth, and could obtain at times, when +she looked back, an occasional glance of the Highlanders, as, winding +through the most concealed and impracticable paths, they bent their way +towards the North. + +She felt in part relieved from her immediate anxiety, as the distance +increased betwixt her and these men, whose actions were only directed by +the will of their chief, and whose chief was a giddy and impetuous boy. +She apprehended no insult on her return to Perth from the soldiery of +any party whom she might meet; for the rules of chivalry were in those +days a surer protection to a maiden of decent appearance than an escort +of armed men, whose cognizance might not be acknowledged as friendly +by any other party whom they might chance to encounter. But more remote +dangers pressed on her apprehension. The pursuit of the licentious +Prince was rendered formidable by threats which his unprincipled +counsellor, Ramorny, had not shunned to utter against her father, if she +persevered in her coyness. These menaces, in such an age, and from such +a character, were deep grounds for alarm; nor could she consider the +pretensions to her favour which Conachar had scarce repressed during his +state of servitude, and seemed now to avow boldly, as less fraught with +evil, since there had been repeated incursions of the Highlanders into +the very town of Perth, and citizens had, on more occasions than one, +been made prisoners and carried off from their own houses, or had fallen +by the claymore in the very streets of their city. She feared, too, her +father’s importunity on behalf of the smith, of whose conduct on St. +Valentine’s Day unworthy reports had reached her; and whose suit, had +he stood clear in her good opinion, she dared not listen to, while +Ramorny’s threats of revenge upon her father rung on her ear. She +thought on these various dangers with the deepest apprehension, and an +earnest desire to escape from them and herself, by taking refuge in the +cloister; but saw no possibility of obtaining her father’s consent to +the only course from which she expected peace and protection. + +In the course of these reflections, we cannot discover that she very +distinctly regretted that her perils attended her because she was the +Fair Maid of Perth. This was one point which marked that she was not +yet altogether an angel; and perhaps it was another that, in despite of +Henry Smith’s real or supposed delinquencies, a sigh escaped from her +bosom when she thought upon St. Valentine’s dawn. + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + Oh, for a draught of power to steep + The soul of agony in sleep! + + Bertha. + + +We have shown the secrets of the confessional; those of the sick +chamber are not hidden from us. The darkened apartment, where salves and +medicines showed that the leech had been busy in his craft, a tall thin +form lay on a bed, arrayed in a nightgown belted around him, with +pain on his brow, and a thousand stormy passions agitating his bosom. +Everything in the apartment indicated a man of opulence and of expense. +Henbane Dwining, the apothecary, who seemed to have the care of the +patient, stole with a crafty and catlike step from one corner of the +room to another, busying himself with mixing medicines and preparing +dressings. The sick man groaned once or twice, on which the leech, +advancing to his bedside, asked whether these sounds were a token of the +pain of his body or of the distress of his mind. + +“Of both, thou poisoning varlet,” said Sir John Ramorny, “and of being +encumbered with thy accursed company.” + +“If that is all, I can relieve your knighthood of one of these ills +by presently removing myself elsewhere. Thanks to the feuds of this +boisterous time, had I twenty hands, instead of these two poor servants +of my art (displaying his skinny palms), there is enough of employment +for them--well requited employment, too, where thanks and crowns contend +which shall best pay my services; while you, Sir John, wreak upon your +chirurgeon the anger you ought only to bear against the author of your +wound.” + +“Villain, it is beneath me to reply to thee,” said the patient; “but +every word of thy malignant tongue is a dirk, inflicting wounds which +set all the medicines of Arabia at defiance.” + +“Sir John, I understand you not; but if you give way to these +tempestuous fits of rage, it is impossible but fever and inflammation +must be the result.” + +“Why then dost thou speak in a sense to chafe my blood? Why dost thou +name the supposition of thy worthless self having more hands than +nature gave thee, while I, a knight and gentleman, am mutilated like a +cripple?” + +“Sir John,” replied the chirurgeon, “I am no divine, nor a mainly +obstinate believer in some things which divines tell us. Yet I may +remind you that you have been kindly dealt with; for if the blow which +has done you this injury had lighted on your neck, as it was aimed, it +would have swept your head from your shoulders, instead of amputating a +less considerable member.” + +“I wish it had, Dwining--I wish it had lighted as it was addressed. I +should not then have seen a policy which had spun a web so fine as mine +burst through by the brute force of a drunken churl. I should not have +been reserved to see horses which I must not mount, lists which I must +no longer enter, splendours which I cannot hope to share, or battles +which I must not take part in. I should not, with a man’s passions for +power and for strife, be set to keep place among the women, despised by +them, too, as a miserable, impotent cripple, unable to aim at obtaining +the favour of the sex.” + +“Supposing all this to be so, I will yet pray of your knighthood to +remark,” replied Dwining, still busying himself with arranging the +dressings of the wounds, “that your eyes, which you must have lost +with your head, may, being spared to you, present as rich a prospect of +pleasure as either ambition, or victory in the list or in the field, or +the love of woman itself, could have proposed to you.” + +“My sense is too dull to catch thy meaning, leech,” replied Ramorny. +“What is this precious spectacle reserved to me in such a shipwreck?” + +“The dearest that mankind knows,” replied Dwining; and then, in the +accent of a lover who utters the name of his beloved mistress, and +expresses his passion for her in the very tone of his voice, he added +the word “REVENGE!” + +The patient had raised himself on his couch to listen with some anxiety +for the solution of the physician’s enigma. He laid himself down again +as he heard it explained, and after a short pause asked, “In what +Christian college learned you this morality, good Master Dwining?” + +“In no Christian college,” answered his physician; “for, though it is +privately received in most, it is openly and manfully adopted in none. +But I have studied among the sages of Granada, where the fiery souled +Moor lifts high his deadly dagger as it drops with his enemy’s blood, +and avows the doctrine which the pallid Christian practises, though +coward-like he dare not name it.” + +“Thou art then a more high souled villain than I deemed thee,” said +Ramorny. + +“Let that pass,” answered Dwining. “The waters that are the stillest are +also the deepest; and the foe is most to be dreaded who never threatens +till he strikes. You knights and men at arms go straight to your purpose +with sword in hand. We who are clerks win our access with a noiseless +step and an indirect approach, but attain our object not less surely.” + +“And I,” said the knight, “who have trod to my revenge with a mailed +foot, which made all echo around it, must now use such a slipper as +thine--ha?” + +“He who lacks strength,” said the wily mediciner, “must attain his +purpose by skill.” + +“And tell me sincerely, mediciner, wherefore thou wouldst read me these +devil’s lessons? Why wouldst thou thrust me faster or farther on to my +vengeance than I may seem to thee ready to go of my own accord? I am old +in the ways of the world, man; and I know that such as thou do not drop +words in vain, or thrust themselves upon the dangerous confidence of men +like me save with the prospect of advancing some purpose of their own. +What interest hast thou in the road, whether peaceful or bloody, which I +may pursue on these occurrents?” + +“In plain dealing, sir knight, though it is what I seldom use,” answered +the leech, “my road to revenge is the same with yours.” + +“With mine, man?” said Ramorny, with a tone of scornful surprise. “I +thought it had been high beyond thy reach. Thou aim at the same revenge +with Ramorny?” + +“Ay, truly,” replied Dwining, “for the smithy churl under whose blow you +have suffered has often done me despite and injury. He has thwarted +me in counsel and despised me in action. His brutal and unhesitating +bluntness is a living reproach to the subtlety of my natural +disposition. I fear him, and I hate him.” + +“And you hope to hind an active coadjutor in me?” said Ramorny, in the +same supercilious tone as before. “But know, the artisan fellow is too +low in degree to be to me either the object of hatred or of fear. Yet he +shall not escape. We hate not the reptile that has stung us, though we +might shake it off the wound, and tread upon it. I know the ruffian of +old as a stout man at arms, and a pretender, as I have heard, to the +favour of the scornful puppet whose beauties, forsooth, spurred us to +our wise and hopeful attempt. Fiends that direct this nether world, +by what malice have ye decided that the hand which has couched a lance +against the bosom of a prince should be struck off like a sapling by +the blow of a churl, and during the turmoil of a midnight riot? Well, +mediciner, thus far our courses hold together, and I bid thee well +believe that I will crush for thee this reptile mechanic. But do not +thou think to escape me when that part of my revenge is done which will +be most easily and speedily accomplished.” + +“Not, it may be, altogether so easily accomplished,” said the +apothecary; “for if your knighthood will credit me, there will be +found small ease or security in dealing with him. He is the strongest, +boldest, and most skilful swordsman in Perth and all the country around +it.” + +“Fear nothing; he shall be met with had he the strength of Sampson. But +then, mark me! Hope not thou to escape my vengeance, unless thou become +my passive agent in the scene which is to follow. Mark me, I say +once more. I have studied at no Moorish college, and lack some of +thy unbounded appetite for revenge, but yet I will have my share of +vengeance. Listen to me, mediciner, while I shall thus far unfold +myself; but beware of treachery, for, powerful as thy fiend is, thou +hast taken lessons from a meaner devil than mine. Hearken--the master +whom I have served through vice and virtue, with too much zeal for my +own character, perhaps, but with unshaken fidelity to him--the very man, +to soothe whose frantic folly I have incurred this irreparable loss, is, +at the prayer of his doating father, about to sacrifice me, by turning +me out of his favour, and leaving me at the mercy of the hypocritical +relative with whom he seeks a precarious reconciliation at my expense. +If he perseveres in this most ungrateful purpose, thy fiercest Moors, +were their complexion swarthy as the smoke of hell, shall blush to see +their revenge outdone. But I will give him one more chance for honour +and safety before my wrath shall descend on him in unrelenting and +unmitigated fury. There, then, thus far thou hast my confidence. Close +hands on our bargain. Close hands, did I say? Where is the hand that +should be the pledge and representative of Ramorny’s plighted word? +Is it nailed on the public pillory, or flung as offal to the houseless +dogs, who are even now snarling over it? Lay thy finger on the mutilated +stump, then, and swear to be a faithful actor in my revenge, as I shall +be in yours. How now, sir leech look you pale--you, who say to death, +stand back or advance, can you tremble to think of him or to hear him +named? I have not mentioned your fee, for one who loves revenge for +itself requires no deeper bribe; yet, if broad lands and large sums of +gold can increase thy zeal in a brave cause, believe me, these shall not +be lacking.” + +“They tell for something in my humble wishes,” said Dwining: “the poor +man in this bustling world is thrust down like a dwarf in a crowd, and +so trodden under foot; the rich and powerful rise like giants above the +press, and are at ease, while all is turmoil around them.” + +“Then shalt thou arise above the press, mediciner, as high as gold +can raise thee. This purse is weighty, yet it is but an earnest of thy +guerdon.” + +“And this Smith, my noble benefactor,” said the leech, as he pouched the +gratuity--“this Henry of the Wynd, or what ever is his name--would not +the news that he hath paid the penalty of his action assuage the pain of +thy knighthood’s wound better than the balm of Mecca with which I have +salved it?” + +“He is beneath the thoughts of Ramorny; and I have no more resentment +against him than I have ill will at the senseless weapon which he +swayed. But it is just thy hate should be vented upon him. Where is he +chiefly to be met with?” + +“That also I have considered,” said Dwining. “To make the attempt by day +in his own house were too open and dangerous, for he hath five servants +who work with him at the stithy, four of them strong knaves, and all +loving to their master. By night were scarce less desperate, for he hath +his doors strongly secured with bolt of oak and bar of iron, and ere the +fastenings of his house could be forced, the neighbourhood would rise to +his rescue, especially as they are still alarmed by the practice on St. +Valentine’s Even.” + +“Oh, ay, true, mediciner,” said Ramorny, “for deceit is thy nature even +with me: thou knewest my hand and signet, as thou said’st, when that +hand was found cast out on the street, like the disgusting refuse of +a shambles--why, having such knowledge, went’st thou with these +jolterheaded citizens to consult that Patrick Charteris, whose spurs +should be hacked off from his heels for the communion which he holds +with paltry burghers, and whom thou brought’st here with the fools to do +dishonour to the lifeless hand, which, had it held its wonted place, he +was not worthy to have touched in peace or faced in war?” + +“My noble patron, as soon as I had reason to know you had been the +sufferer, I urged them with all my powers of persuasion to desist from +prosecuting the feud; but the swaggering smith, and one or two other hot +heads, cried out for vengeance. Your knighthood must know this fellow +calls himself bachelor to the Fair Maiden of Perth, and stands upon his +honour to follow up her father’s quarrel; but I have forestalled his +market in that quarter, and that is something in earnest of revenge.” + +“How mean you by that, sir leech?” said the patient. + +“Your knighthood shall conceive,” said the mediciner, “that this smith +doth not live within compass, but is an outlier and a galliard. I met +him myself on St. Valentine’s Day, shortly after the affray between the +townsfolk and the followers of Douglas. Yes, I met him sneaking through +the lanes and bye passages with a common minstrel wench, with her messan +and her viol on his one arm and her buxom self hanging upon the other. +What thinks your honour? Is not this a trim squire, to cross a prince’s +love with the fairest girl in Perth, strike off the hand of a knight and +baron, and become gentleman usher to a strolling glee woman, all in the +course of the same four and twenty hours?” + +“Marry, I think the better of him that he has so much of a gentleman’s +humour, clown though he be,” said Ramorny. “I would he had been a +precisian instead of a galliard, and I should have had better heart to +aid thy revenge. And such revenge!--revenge on a smith--in the quarrel +of a pitiful manufacturer of rotten cheverons! Pah! And yet it shall +be taken in full. Thou hast commenced it, I warrant me, by thine own +manoeuvres.” + +“In a small degree only,” said the apothecary. “I took care that two or +three of the most notorious gossips in Curfew street, who liked not to +hear Catharine called the Fair Maid of Perth, should be possessed +of this story of her faithful Valentine. They opened on the scent so +keenly, that, rather than doubt had fallen on the tale, they would have +vouched for it as if their own eyes had seen it. The lover came to +her father’s within an hour after, and your worship may think what a +reception he had from the angry glover, for the damsel herself would not +be looked upon. And thus your honour sees I had a foretaste of revenge. +But I trust to receive the full draught from the hands of your lordship, +with whom I am in a brotherly league, which--” + +“Brotherly!” said the knight, contemptuously. “But be it so, the priests +say we are all of one common earth. I cannot tell, there seems to me +some difference; but the better mould shall keep faith with the baser, +and thou shalt have thy revenge. Call thou my page hither.” + +A young man made his appearance from the anteroom upon the physician’s +summons. + +“Eviot,” said the knight, “does Bonthron wait? and is he sober?” + +“He is as sober as sleep can make him after a deep drink,” answered the +page. + +“Then fetch him hither, and do thou shut the door.” + +A heavy step presently approached the apartment, and a man entered, +whose deficiency of height seemed made up in breadth of shoulders and +strength of arm. + +“There is a man thou must deal upon, Bonthron,” said the knight. The man +smoothed his rugged features and grinned a smile of satisfaction. + +“That mediciner will show thee the party. Take such advantage of time, +place, and circumstance as will ensure the result; and mind you come not +by the worst, for the man is the fighting Smith of the Wynd.” + +“It Will be a tough job,” growled the assassin; “for if I miss my blow, +I may esteem myself but a dead man. All Perth rings with the smith’s +skill and strength.” + +“Take two assistants with thee,” said the knight. + +“Not I,” said Bonthron. “If you double anything, let it be the reward.” + +“Account it doubled,” said his master; “but see thy work be thoroughly +executed.” + +“Trust me for that, sir knight: seldom have I failed.” + +“Use this sage man’s directions,” said the wounded knight, pointing to +the physician. “And hark thee, await his coming forth, and drink not +till the business be done.” + +“I will not,” answered the dark satellite; “my own life depends on my +blow being steady and sure. I know whom I have to deal with.” + +“Vanish, then, till he summons you, and have axe and dagger in +readiness.” + +Bonthron nodded and withdrew. + +“Will your knighthood venture to entrust such an act to a single hand?” + said the mediciner, when the assassin had left the room. “May I pray you +to remember that yonder party did, two nights since, baffle six armed +men?” + +“Question me not, sir mediciner: a man like Bonthron, who knows time and +place, is worth a score of confused revellers. Call Eviot; thou shalt +first exert thy powers of healing, and do not doubt that thou shalt, +in the farther work, be aided by one who will match thee in the art of +sudden and unexpected destruction.” + +The page Eviot again appeared at the mediciner’s summons, and at his +master’s sign assisted the chirurgeon in removing the dressings from +Sir John Ramorny’s wounded arm. Dwining viewed the naked stump with +a species of professional satisfaction, enhanced, no doubt, by the +malignant pleasure which his evil disposition took in the pain and +distress of his fellow creatures. The knight just turned his eye on the +ghastly spectacle, and uttered, under the pressure of bodily pain or +mental agony, a groan which he would fain have repressed. + +“You groan, sir,” said the leech, in his soft, insinuating tone of +voice, but with a sneer of enjoyment, mixed with scorn, curling upon +his lip, which his habitual dissimulation could not altogether +disguise--“you groan; but be comforted. This Henry Smith knows his +business: his sword is as true to its aim as his hammer to the anvil. +Had a common swordsman struck this fatal blow, he had harmed the bone +and damaged the muscles, so that even my art might not have been able +to repair them. But Henry Smith’s cut is clean, and as sure as that with +which my own scalpel could have made the amputation. In a few days you +will be able, with care and attention to the ordinances of medicine, to +stir abroad.” + +“But my hand--the loss of my hand--” + +“It may be kept secret for a time,” said the mediciner. “I have +possessed two or three tattling fools, in deep confidence, that the hand +which was found was that of your knighthood’s groom, Black Quentin, and +your knighthood knows that he has parted for Fife, in such sort as to +make it generally believed.” + +“I know well enough,” said Ramorny, “that the rumour may stifle the +truth for a short time. But what avails this brief delay?” + +“It may be concealed till your knighthood retires for a time from the +court, and then, when new accidents have darkened the recollection +of the present stir, it may be imputed to a wound received from the +shivering of a spear, or from a crossbow bolt. Your slave will find a +suitable device, and stand for the truth of it.” + +“The thought maddens me,” said Ramorny, with another groan of mental and +bodily agony; “yet I see no better remedy.” + +“There is none other,” said the leech, to whose evil nature his patron’s +distress was delicious nourishment. “In the mean while, it is believed +you are confined by the consequences of some bruises, aiding the sense +of displeasure at the Prince’s having consented to dismiss you from his +household at the remonstrance of Albany, which is publicly known.” + +“Villain, thou rack’st me!” exclaimed the patient. + +“Upon the whole, therefore,” said Dwining, “your knighthood has escaped +well, and, saving the lack of your hand, a mischance beyond remedy, +you ought rather to rejoice than complain; for no barber chirurgeon in +France or England could have more ably performed the operation than this +churl with one downright blow.” + +“I understand my obligation fully,” said Ramorny, struggling with his +anger, and affecting composure; “and if Bonthron pays him not with a +blow equally downright, and rendering the aid of the leech unnecessary, +say that John of Ramorny cannot requite an obligation.” + +“That is spoke like yourself, noble knight!” answered the mediciner. +“And let me further say, that the operator’s skill must have been +vain, and the hemorrhage must have drained your life veins, but for the +bandages, the cautery, and the styptics applied by the good monks, and +the poor services of your humble vassal, Henbane Dwining.” + +“Peace,” exclaimed the patient, “with thy ill omened voice and worse +omened name! Methinks, as thou mentionest the tortures I have undergone, +my tingling nerves stretch and contract themselves as if they still +actuated the fingers that once could clutch a dagger.” + +“That,” explained the leech, “may it please your knighthood, is a +phenomenon well known to our profession. There have been those among +the ancient sages who have thought that there still remained a sympathy +between the severed nerves and those belonging to the amputated +limb; and that the several fingers are seen to quiver and strain, as +corresponding with the impulse which proceeds from their sympathy with +the energies of the living system. Could we recover the hand from the +Cross, or from the custody of the Black Douglas, I would be pleased to +observe this wonderful operation of occult sympathies. But, I fear me, +one might as safely go to wrest the joint from the talons of an hungry +eagle.” + +“And thou mayst as safely break thy malignant jests on a wounded lion as +on John of Ramorny,” said the knight, raising himself in uncontrollable +indignation. “Caitiff, proceed to thy duty; and remember, that if my +hand can no longer clasp a dagger, I can command an hundred.” + +“The sight of one drawn and brandished in anger were sufficient,” said +Dwining, “to consume the vital powers of your chirurgeon. But who then,” + he added in a tone partly insinuating, partly jeering--“who would then +relieve the fiery and scorching pain which my patron now suffers, and +which renders him exasperated even with his poor servant for quoting the +rules of healing, so contemptible, doubtless, compared with the power of +inflicting wounds?” + +Then, as daring no longer to trifle with the mood of his dangerous +patient, the leech addressed himself seriously to salving the wound, +and applied a fragrant balm, the odour of which was diffused through the +apartment, while it communicated a refreshing coolness, instead of the +burning heat--a change so gratifying to the fevered patient, that, as +he had before groaned with agony, he could not now help sighing for +pleasure, as he sank back on his couch to enjoy the ease which the +dressing bestowed. + +“Your knightly lordship now knows who is your friend,” said Dwining; +“had you yielded to a rash impulse, and said, ‘Slay me this worthless +quacksalver,’ where, within the four seas of Britain, would you have +found the man to have ministered to you as much comfort?” + +“Forget my threats, good leech,” said Ramorny, “and beware how you tempt +me. Such as I brook not jests upon our agony. See thou keep thy scoffs, +to pass upon misers [that is, miserable persons, as used in Spenser and +other writers of his time, though the sense is now restricted to those +who are covetous] in the hospital.” + +Dwining ventured to say no more, but poured some drops from a phial +which he took from his pocket into a small cup of wine allayed with +water. + +“This draught,” said the man of art, “is medicated to produce a sleep +which must not be interrupted.” + +“For how long will it last?” asked the knight. + +“The period of its operation is uncertain--perhaps till morning.” + +“Perhaps for ever,” said the patient. “Sir mediciner, taste me that +liquor presently, else it passes not my lips.” + +The leech obeyed him, with a scornful smile. “I would drink the whole +with readiness; but the juice of this Indian gum will bring sleep on the +healthy man as well as upon the patient, and the business of the leech +requires me to be a watcher.” + +“I crave your pardon, sir leech,” said Ramorny, looking downwards, as if +ashamed to have manifested suspicion. + +“There is no room for pardon where offence must not be taken,” answered +the mediciner. “An insect must thank a giant that he does not tread on +him. Yet, noble knight, insects have their power of harming as well as +physicians. What would it have cost me, save a moment’s trouble, so to +have drugged that balm, as should have made your arm rot to the shoulder +joint, and your life blood curdle in your veins to a corrupted jelly? +What is there that prevented me to use means yet more subtle, and to +taint your room with essences, before which the light of life twinkles +more and more dimly, till it expires, like a torch amidst the foul +vapours of some subterranean dungeon? You little estimate my power, if +you know not that these and yet deeper modes of destruction stand +at command of my art. But a physician slays not the patient by whose +generosity he lives, and far less will he the breath of whose nostrils +is the hope of revenge destroy the vowed ally who is to favour his +pursuit of it. Yet one word; should a necessity occur for rousing +yourself--for who in Scotland can promise himself eight hours’ +uninterrupted repose?--then smell at the strong essence contained in +this pouncet box. And now, farewell, sir knight; and if you cannot think +of me as a man of nice conscience, acknowledge me at least as one of +reason and of judgment.” + +So saying, the mediciner left the room, his usual mean and shuffling +gait elevating itself into something more noble, as conscious of a +victory over his imperious patient. + +Sir John Ramorny remained sunk in unpleasing reflections until he began +to experience the incipient effects of his soporific draught. He then +roused himself for an instant, and summoned his page. + +“Eviot! what ho! Eviot! I have done ill to unbosom myself so far to this +poisonous quacksalver. Eviot!” + +The page entered. + +“Is the mediciner gone forth?” + +“Yes, so please your knighthood.” + +“Alone or accompanied?” + +“Bonthron spoke apart with him, and followed him almost immediately--by +your lordship’s command, as I understood him.” + +“Lackaday, yes! he goes to seek some medicaments; he will return anon. +If he be intoxicated, see he comes not near my chamber, and permit him +not to enter into converse with any one. He raves when drink has touched +his brain. He was a rare fellow before a Southron bill laid his brain +pan bare; but since that time he talks gibberish whenever the cup has +crossed his lips. Said the leech aught to you, Eviot?” + +“Nothing, save to reiterate his commands that your honour be not +disturbed.” + +“Which thou must surely obey,” said the knight. “I feel the summons to +rest, of which I have been deprived since this unhappy wound. At least, +if I have slept it has been but for a snatch. Aid me to take off my +gown, Eviot.” + +“May God and the saints send you good rest, my lord,” said the page, +retiring after he had rendered his wounded master the assistance +required. + +As Eviot left the room, the knight, whose brain was becoming more and +more confused, muttered over the page’s departing salutation. + +“God--saints--I have slept sound under such a benison. But now, methinks +if I awake not to the accomplishment of my proud hopes of power and +revenge, the best wish for me is, that the slumbers which now fall +around my head were the forerunners of that sleep which shall return +my borrowed powers to their original nonexistence--I can argue it no +farther.” + +Thus speaking, he fell into a profound sleep. + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + On Fastern’s E’en when we war fou. + + Scots Song. + + +The night which sunk down on the sickbed of Ramorny was not doomed to be +a quiet one. Two hours had passed since curfew bell, then rung at seven +o’clock at night, and in those primitive times all were retired to rest, +excepting such whom devotion, or duty, or debauchery made watchers; and +the evening being that of Shrovetide, or, as it was called in Scotland, +Fastern’s E’en, the vigils of gaiety were by far the most frequented of +the three. + +The common people had, throughout the day, toiled and struggled at +football; the nobles and gentry had fought cocks, and hearkened to the +wanton music of the minstrel; while the citizens had gorged themselves +upon pancakes fried in lard, and brose, or brewis--the fat broth, that +is, in which salted beef had been boiled, poured upon highly toasted +oatmeal, a dish which even now is not ungrateful to simple, old +fashioned Scottish palates. These were all exercises and festive dishes +proper to the holiday. It was no less a solemnity of the evening that +the devout Catholic should drink as much good ale and wine as he had +means to procure; and, if young and able, that he should dance at the +ring, or figure among the morrice dancers, who, in the city of Perth, +as elsewhere, wore a peculiarly fantastic garb, and distinguished +themselves by their address and activity. All this gaiety took place +under the prudential consideration that the long term of Lent, now +approaching, with its fasts and deprivations, rendered it wise for +mortals to cram as much idle and sensual indulgence as they could into +the brief space which intervened before its commencement. + +The usual revels had taken place, and in most parts of the city were +succeeded by the usual pause. A particular degree of care had been +taken by the nobility to prevent any renewal of discord betwixt their +followers and the citizens of the town, so that the revels had proceeded +with fewer casualties than usual, embracing only three deaths and +certain fractured limbs, which, occurring to individuals of little +note, were not accounted worth inquiring into. The carnival was closing +quietly in general, but in some places the sport was still kept up. + +One company of revellers, who had been particularly noticed and +applauded, seemed unwilling to conclude their frolic. The entry, as it +was called, consisted of thirteen persons, habited in the same manner, +having doublets of chamois leather sitting close to their bodies, +curiously slashed and laced. They wore green caps with silver tassels, +red ribands, and white shoes, had bells hung at their knees and around +their ankles, and naked swords in their hands. This gallant party, +having exhibited a sword dance before the King, with much clashing of +weapons and fantastic interchange of postures, went on gallantly to +repeat their exhibition before the door of Simon Glover, where, having +made a fresh exhibition of their agility, they caused wine to be served +round to their own company and the bystanders, and with a loud shout +drank to the health of the Fair Maid of Perth. This summoned old Simon +to the door of his habitation, to acknowledge the courtesy of his +countrymen, and in his turn to send the wine around in honour of the +Merry Morrice Dancers of Perth. + +“We thank thee, father Simon,” said a voice, which strove to drown in an +artificial squeak the pert, conceited tone of Oliver Proudfute. “But a +sight of thy lovely daughter had been more sweet to us young bloods than +a whole vintage of Malvoisie.” + +“I thank thee, neighbours, for your goodwill,” replied the glover. “My +daughter is ill at ease, and may not come forth into the cold night air; +but if this gay gallant, whose voice methinks I should know, will go +into my poor house, she will charge him with thanks for the rest of +you.” + +“Bring them to us at the hostelrie of the Griffin,” cried the rest of +the ballet to their favoured companion; “for there will we ring in Lent, +and have another rouse to the health of the lovely Catharine.” + +“Have with you in half an hour,” said Oliver, “and see who will quaff +the largest flagon, or sing the loudest glee. Nay, I will be merry in +what remains of Fastern’s Even, should Lent find me with my mouth closed +for ever.” + +“Farewell, then,” cried his mates in the morrice--“fare well, slashing +bonnet maker, till we meet again.” + +The morrice dancers accordingly set out upon their further progress, +dancing and carolling as they went along to the sound of four musicians, +who led the joyous band, while Simon Glover drew their coryphaeus into +his house, and placed him in a chair by his parlour fire. + +“But where is your daughter?” said Oliver. “She is the bait for us brave +blades.” + +“Why, truly, she keeps her apartment, neighbour Oliver; and, to speak +plainly, she keeps her bed.” + +“Why, then will I upstairs to see her in her sorrow; you have marred my +ramble, Gaffer Glover, and you owe me amends--a roving blade like me; I +will not lose both the lass and the glass. Keeps her bed, does she? + + “My dog and I we have a trick + To visit maids when they are sick; + When they are sick and like to die, + Oh, thither do come my dog and I. + + “And when I die, as needs must hap, + Then bury me under the good ale tap; + With folded arms there let me lie + Cheek for jowl, my dog and I.” + +“Canst thou not be serious for a moment, neighbour Proudfute?” said the +glover; “I want a word of conversation with you.” + +“Serious!” answered his visitor; “why, I have been serious all this +day: I can hardly open my mouth, but something comes out about death, a +burial, or suchlike--the most serious subjects that I wot of.” + +“St. John, man!” said the glover, “art then fey?” + +“No, not a whit: it is not my own death which these gloomy fancies +foretell. I have a strong horoscope, and shall live for fifty years to +come. But it is the case of the poor fellow--the Douglas man, whom I +struck down at the fray of St. Valentine’s: he died last night; it is +that which weighs on my conscience, and awakens sad fancies. Ah, father +Simon, we martialists, that have spilt blood in our choler, have dark +thoughts at times; I sometimes wish that my knife had cut nothing but +worsted thrums.” + +“And I wish,” said Simon, “that mine had cut nothing but buck’s leather, +for it has sometimes cut my own fingers. But thou mayst spare thy +remorse for this bout: there was but one man dangerously hurt at the +affray, and it was he from whom Henry Smith hewed the hand, and he is +well recovered. His name is Black Quentin, one of Sir John Ramorny’s +followers. He has been sent privately back to his own country of Fife.” + +“What, Black Quentin? Why, that is the very man that Henry and I, as +we ever keep close together, struck at in the same moment, only my blow +fell somewhat earlier. I fear further feud will come of it, and so does +the provost. And is he recovered? Why, then, I will be jovial, and since +thou wilt not let me see how Kate becomes her night gear, I will back to +the Griffin to my morrice dancers.” + +“Nay, stay but one instant. Thou art a comrade of Henry Wynd, and hast +done him the service to own one or two deeds and this last among others. +I would thou couldst clear him of other charges with which fame hath +loaded him.” + +“Nay, I will swear by the hilt of my sword they are as false as hell, +father Simon. What--blades and targets! shall not men of the sword stick +together?” + +“Nay, neighbour bonnet maker, be patient; thou mayst do the smith a kind +turn, an thou takest this matter the right way. I have chosen thee to +consult with anent this matter--not that I hold thee the wisest head in +Perth, for should I say so I should lie.” + +“Ay--ay,” answered the self satisfied bonnet maker; “I know where you +think my fault lies: you cool heads think we hot heads are fools--I have +heard men call Henry Wynd such a score of times.” + +“Fool enough and cool enough may rhyme together passing well,” said the +glover; “but thou art good natured, and I think lovest this crony of +thine. It stands awkwardly with us and him just now,” continued Simon. +“Thou knowest there hath been some talk of marriage between my daughter +Catharine and Henry Gow?” + +“I have heard some such song since St. Valentine’s Morn. Ah! he that +shall win the Fair Maid of Perth must be a happy man; and yet marriage +spoils many a pretty fellow. I myself somewhat regret--” + +“Prithee, truce with thy regrets for the present, man,” interrupted the +glover, somewhat peevishly. “You must know, Oliver, that some of these +talking women, who I think make all the business of the world their +own, have accused Henry of keeping light company with glee women and +suchlike. Catharine took it to heart; and I held my child insulted, that +he had not waited upon her like a Valentine, but had thrown himself into +unseemly society on the very day when, by ancient custom, he might have +had an opportunity to press his interest with my daughter. Therefore, +when he came hither late on the evening of St. Valentine’s, I, like a +hasty old fool, bid him go home to the company he had left, and denied +him admittance. I have not seen him since, and I begin to think that +I may have been too rash in the matter. She is my only child, and the +grave should have her sooner than a debauchee, But I have hitherto +thought I knew Henry Gow as if he were my son. I cannot think he would +use us thus, and it may be there are means of explaining what is laid +to his charge. I was led to ask Dwining, who is said to have saluted the +smith while he was walking with this choice mate. If I am to believe his +words, this wench was the smith’s cousin, Joan Letham. But thou knowest +that the potter carrier ever speaks one language with his visage and +another with his tongue. Now, thou, Oliver, hast too little wit--I mean, +too much honesty--to belie the truth, and as Dwining hinted that thou +also hadst seen her--” + +“I see her, Simon Glover! Will Dwining say that I saw her?” + +“No, not precisely that; but he says you told him you had met the smith +thus accompanied.” + +“He lies, and I will pound him into a gallipot!” said Oliver Proudfute. + +“How! Did you never tell him, then, of such a meeting?” + +“What an if I did?” said the bonnet maker. “Did not he swear that he +would never repeat again to living mortal what I communicated to him? +and therefore, in telling the occurrent to you, he hath made himself a +liar.” + +“Thou didst not meet the smith, then,” said Simon, “with such a loose +baggage as fame reports?” + +“Lackaday, not I; perhaps I did, perhaps I did not. Think, father +Simon--I have been a four years married man, and can you expect me to +remember the turn of a glee woman’s ankle, the trip of her toe, the lace +upon her petticoat, and such toys? No, I leave that to unmarried wags, +like my gossip Henry.” + +“The upshot is, then,” said the glover, much vexed, “you did meet him on +St. Valentine’s Day walking the public streets--” + +“Not so, neighbour; I met him in the most distant and dark lane in +Perth, steering full for his own house, with bag and baggage, which, as +a gallant fellow, he carried in his arms, the puppy dog on one and the +jilt herself--and to my thought she was a pretty one--hanging upon the +other.” + +“Now, by good St. John,” said the glover, “this infamy would make a +Christian man renounce his faith, and worship Mahound in very anger! But +he has seen the last of my daughter. I would rather she went to the wild +Highlands with a barelegged cateran than wed with one who could, at such +a season, so broadly forget honour and decency. Out upon him!” + +“Tush--tush! father Simon,” said the liberal minded bonnet maker, “you +consider not the nature of young blood. Their company was not long, +for--to speak truth, I did keep a little watch on him--I met him before +sunrise, conducting his errant damsel to the Lady’s Stairs, that the +wench might embark on the Tay from Perth; and I know for certainty, for +I made inquiry, that she sailed in a gabbart for Dundee. So you see it +was but a slight escape of youth.” + +“And he came here,” said Simon, bitterly, “beseeching for admittance to +my daughter, while he had his harlot awaiting him at home! I had rather +he had slain a score of men! It skills not talking, least of all to +thee, Oliver Proudfute, who, if thou art not such a one as himself, +would fain be thought so. But--” + +“Nay, think not of it so seriously,” said Oliver, who began to reflect +on the mischief his tattling was likely to occasion to his friend, and +on the consequences of Henry Gow’s displeasure, when he should learn +the disclosure which he had made rather in vanity of heart than in evil +intention. + +“Consider,” he continued, “that there are follies belonging to youth. +Occasion provokes men to such frolics, and confession wipes them off. I +care not if I tell thee that, though my wife be as goodly a woman as the +city has, yet I myself--” + +“Peace, silly braggart,” said the glover in high wrath; “thy loves and +thy battles are alike apocryphal. If thou must needs lie, which I think +is thy nature, canst thou invent no falsehood that may at least do thee +some credit? Do I not see through thee, as I could see the light through +the horn of a base lantern? Do I not know, thou filthy weaver of rotten +worsted, that thou durst no more cross the threshold of thy own door, if +thy wife heard of thy making such a boast, than thou darest cross naked +weapons with a boy of twelve years old, who has drawn a sword for the +first time of his life? By St. John, it were paying you for your tale +bearing trouble to send thy Maudie word of thy gay brags.” + +The bonnet maker, at this threat, started as if a crossbow bolt had +whizzed past his head when least expected. And it was with a trembling +voice that he replied: “Nay, good father Glover, thou takest too much +credit for thy grey hairs. Consider, good neighbour, thou art too old +for a young martialist to wrangle with. And in the matter of my Maudie, +I can trust thee, for I know no one who would be less willing than thou +to break the peace of families.” + +“Trust thy coxcomb no longer with me,” said the incensed glover; “but +take thyself, and the thing thou call’st a head, out of my reach, lest I +borrow back five minutes of my youth and break thy pate!” + +“You have had a merry Fastern’s Even, neighbour,” said the bonnet maker, +“and I wish you a quiet sleep; we shall meet better friends tomorrow.” + +“Out of my doors tonight!” said the glover. “I am ashamed so idle a +tongue as thine should have power to move me thus.” + +“Idiot--beast--loose tongued coxcomb,” he exclaimed, throwing himself +into a chair, as the bonnet maker disappeared; “that a fellow made up +of lies should not have had the grace to frame one when it might have +covered the shame of a friend! And I--what am I, that I should, in my +secret mind, wish that such a gross insult to me and my child had +been glossed over? Yet such was my opinion of Henry, that I would have +willingly believed the grossest figment the swaggering ass could have +invented. Well, it skills not thinking of it. Our honest name must be +maintained, though everything else should go to ruin.” + +While the glover thus moralised on the unwelcome confirmation of the +tale he wished to think untrue, the expelled morrice dancer had leisure, +in the composing air of a cool and dark February night, to meditate on +the consequences of the glover’s unrestrained anger. + +“But it is nothing,” he bethought himself, “to the wrath of Henry Wynd, +who hath killed a man for much less than placing displeasure betwixt him +and Catharine, as well as her fiery old father. Certainly I were better +have denied everything. But the humour of seeming a knowing gallant, as +in truth I am, fairly overcame me. Were I best go to finish the revel +at the Griffin? But then Maudie will rampauge on my return--ay, and this +being holiday even, I may claim a privilege. I have it: I will not to +the Griffin--I will to the smith’s, who must be at home, since no one +hath seen him this day amid the revel. I will endeavour to make peace +with him, and offer my intercession with the glover. Harry is a simple, +downright fellow, and though I think he is my better in a broil, yet +in discourse I can turn him my own way. The streets are now quiet, the +night, too, is dark, and I may step aside if I meet any rioters. I will +to the smith’s, and, securing him for my friend, I care little for old +Simon. St. Ringan bear me well through this night, and I will clip my +tongue out ere it shall run my head into such peril again! Yonder old +fellow, when his blood was up, looked more like a carver of buff jerkins +than a clipper of kid gloves.” + +With these reflections, the puissant Oliver walked swiftly, yet with as +little noise as possible, towards the wynd in which the smith, as our +readers are aware, had his habitation. But his evil fortune had not +ceased to pursue him. As he turned into the High, or principal, Street, +he heard a burst of music very near him, followed by a loud shout. + +“My merry mates, the morrice dancers,” thought he; “I would know old +Jeremy’s rebeck among an hundred. I will venture across the street ere +they pass on; if I am espied, I shall have the renown of some private +quest, which may do me honour as a roving blade.” + +With these longings for distinction among the gay and gallant, combated, +however, internally, by more prudential considerations, the bonnet maker +made an attempt to cross the street. But the revellers, whoever they +might be, were accompanied by torches, the flash of which fell upon +Oliver, whose light coloured habit made him the more distinctly visible. +The general shout of “A prize--a prize” overcame the noise of the +minstrel, and before the bonnet maker could determine whether it were +better to stand or fly, two active young men, clad in fantastic masking +habits, resembling wild men, and holding great clubs, seized upon him, +saying, in a tragical tone: “Yield thee, man of bells and bombast--yield +thee, rescue or no rescue, or truly thou art but a dead morrice dancer.” + +“To whom shall I yield me?” said the bonnet maker, with a faltering +voice; for, though he saw he had to do with a party of mummers who were +afoot for pleasure, yet he observed at the same time that they were far +above his class, and he lost the audacity necessary to support his part +in a game where the inferior was likely to come by the worst. + +“Dost thou parley, slave?” answered one of the maskers; “and must I +show thee that thou art a captive, by giving thee incontinently the +bastinado?” + +“By no means, puissant man of Ind,” said the bonnet maker; “lo, I am +conformable to your pleasure.” + +“Come, then,” said those who had arrested him--“come and do homage +to the Emperor of Mimes, King of Caperers, and Grand Duke of the Dark +Hours, and explain by what right thou art so presumptuous as to prance +and jingle, and wear out shoe leather, within his dominions without +paying him tribute. Know’st thou not thou hast incurred the pains of +high treason?” + +“That were hard, methinks,” said poor Oliver, “since I knew not that his +Grace exercised the government this evening. But I am willing to redeem +the forfeit, if the purse of a poor bonnet maker may, by the mulct of a +gallon of wine, or some such matter.” + +“Bring him before the emperor,” was the universal cry; and the morrice +dancer was placed before a slight, but easy and handsome, figure of a +young man, splendidly attired, having a cincture and tiara of peacock’s +feathers, then brought from the East as a marvellous rarity; a short +jacket and under dress of leopard’s skin fitted closely the rest of his +person, which was attired in flesh coloured silk, so as to resemble the +ordinary idea of an Indian prince. He wore sandals, fastened on with +ribands of scarlet silk, and held in his hand a sort of fan, such as +ladies then used, composed of the same feathers, assembled into a plume +or tuft. + +“What mister wight have we here,” said the Indian chief, “who dares to +tie the bells of a morrice on the ankles of a dull ass? Hark ye, friend, +your dress should make you a subject of ours, since our empire extends +over all Merryland, including mimes and minstrels of every description. +What, tongue tied? He lacks wine; minister to him our nutshell full of +sack.” + +A huge calabash full of sack was offered to the lips of the supplicant, +while this prince of revellers exhorted him: + +“Crack me this nut, and do it handsomely, and without wry faces.” + +But, however Oliver might have relished a moderate sip of the same good +wine, he was terrified at the quantity he was required to deal with. He +drank a draught, and then entreated for mercy. + +“So please your princedom, I have yet far to go, and if I were to +swallow your Grace’s bounty, for which accept my dutiful thanks, I +should not be able to stride over the next kennel.” + +“Art thou in case to bear thyself like a galliard? Now, cut me a +caper--ha! one--two--three--admirable. Again--give him the spur (here a +satellite of the Indian gave Oliver a slight touch with his sword). Nay, +that is best of all: he sprang like a cat in a gutter. Tender him the +nut once more; nay, no compulsion, he has paid forfeit, and deserves not +only free dismissal but reward. Kneel down--kneel, and arise Sir Knight +of the Calabash! What is thy name? And one of you lend me a rapier.” + +“Oliver, may it please your honour--I mean your principality.” + +“Oliver, man. Nay, then thou art one of the ‘douze peers’ already, and +fate has forestalled our intended promotion. Yet rise up, sweet Sir +Oliver Thatchpate, Knight of the honourable order of the Pumpkin--rise +up, in the name of nonsense, and begone about thine own concerns, and +the devil go with thee!” + +So saying, the prince of the revels bestowed a smart blow with the flat +of the weapon across the bonnet maker’s shoulders, who sprung to his +feet with more alacrity of motion than he had hitherto displayed, and, +accelerated by the laugh and halloo which arose behind him, arrived at +the smith’s house before he stopped, with the same speed with which a +hunted fox makes for his den. + +It was not till the affrighted bonnet maker had struck a blow on the +door that he recollected he ought to have bethought himself beforehand +in what manner he was to present himself before Henry, and obtain his +forgiveness for his rash communications to Simon Glover. No one answered +to his first knock, and, perhaps, as these reflections arose in the +momentary pause of recollection which circumstances permitted, the +perplexed bonnet maker might have flinched from his purpose, and made +his retreat to his own premises, without venturing upon the interview +which he had purposed. But a distant strain of minstrelsy revived his +apprehensions of falling once more into the hands of the gay maskers +from whom he had escaped, and he renewed his summons on the door of the +smith’s dwelling with a hurried, though faltering, hand. He was then +appalled by the deep, yet not unmusical, voice of Henry Gow, who +answered from within: “Who calls at this hour, and what is it that you +want?” + +“It is I--Oliver Proudfute,” replied the bonnet maker; “I have a merry +jest to tell you, gossip Henry.” + +“Carry thy foolery to some other market. I am in no jesting humour,” + said Henry. “Go hence; I will see no one tonight.” + +“But, gossip--good gossip,” answered the martialist with out, “I am +beset with villains, and beg the shelter of your roof!” + +“Fool that thou art!” replied Henry; “no dunghill cock, the most +recreant that has fought this Fastern’s Eve, would ruffle his feathers +at such a craven as thou!” + +At this moment another strain of minstrelsy, and, as the bonnet maker +conceited, one which approached much nearer, goaded his apprehensions +to the uttermost; and in a voice the tones of which expressed the +undisguised extremity of instant fear he exclaimed: + +“For the sake of our old gossipred, and for the love of Our Blessed +Lady, admit me, Henry, if you would not have me found a bloody corpse at +thy door, slain by the bloody minded Douglasses!” + +“That would be a shame to me,” thought the good natured smith, “and +sooth to say, his peril may be real. There are roving hawks that will +strike at a sparrow as soon as a heron.” + +With these reflections, half muttered, half spoken, Henry undid his well +fastened door, proposing to reconnoitre the reality of the danger before +he permitted his unwelcome guest to enter the house. But as he looked +abroad to ascertain how matters stood, Oliver bolted in like a scared +deer into a thicket, and harboured himself by the smith’s kitchen fire +before Henry could look up and down the lane, and satisfy himself there +were no enemies in pursuit of the apprehensive fugitive. He secured his +door, therefore, and returned into the kitchen, displeased that he had +suffered his gloomy solitude to be intruded upon by sympathising with +apprehensions which he thought he might have known were so easily +excited as those of his timid townsman. + +“How now!” he said, coldly enough, when he saw the bonnet maker calmly +seated by his hearth. “What foolish revel is this, Master Oliver? I see +no one near to harm you.” + +“Give me a drink, kind gossip,” said Oliver: “I am choked with the haste +I have made to come hither.” + +“I have sworn,” said Henry, “that this shall be no revel night in this +house: I am in my workday clothes, as you see, and keep fast, as I have +reason, instead of holiday. You have had wassail enough for the holiday +evening, for you speak thick already. If you wish more ale or wine you +must go elsewhere.” + +“I have had overmuch wassail already,” said poor Oliver, “and have been +well nigh drowned in it. That accursed calabash! A draught of water, +kind gossip--you will not surely let me ask for that in vain? or, if it +is your will, a cup of cold small ale.” + +“Nay, if that be all,” said Henry, “it shall not be lacking. But it must +have been much which brought thee to the pass of asking for either.” + +So saying, he filled a quart flagon from a barrel that stood nigh, and +presented it to his guest. Oliver eagerly accepted it, raised it to +his head with a trembling hand, imbibed the contents with lips which +quivered with emotion, and, though the potation was as thin as he had +requested, so much was he exhausted with the combined fears of alarm and +of former revelry, that, when he placed the flagon on the oak table, he +uttered a deep sigh of satisfaction, and remained silent. + +“Well, now you have had your draught, gossip,” said the smith, “what is +it you want? Where are those that threatened you? I could see no one.” + +“No--but there were twenty chased me into the wynd,” said Oliver. “But +when they saw us together, you know they lost the courage that brought +all of them upon one of us.” + +“Nay, do not trifle, friend Oliver,” replied his host; “my mood lies not +that way.” + +“I jest not, by St. John of Perth. I have been stayed and foully +outraged (gliding his hand sensitively over the place affected) by mad +David of Rothsay, roaring Ramorny, and the rest of them. They made me +drink a firkin of Malvoisie.” + +“Thou speakest folly, man. Ramorny is sick nigh to death, as the potter +carrier everywhere reports: they and he cannot surely rise at midnight +to do such frolics.” + +“I cannot tell,” replied Oliver; “but I saw the party by torchlight, +and I can make bodily oath to the bonnets I made for them since last +Innocents’. They are of a quaint device, and I should know my own +stitch.” + +“Well, thou mayst have had wrong,” answered Henry. “If thou art in real +danger, I will cause them get a bed for thee here. But you must fill it +presently, for I am not in the humour of talking.” + +“Nay, I would thank thee for my quarters for a night, only my Maudie +will be angry--that is, not angry, for that I care not for--but the +truth is, she is overanxious on a revel night like this, knowing my +humour is like thine for a word and a blow.” + +“Why, then, go home,” said the smith, “and show her that her treasure is +in safety, Master Oliver; the streets are quiet, and, to speak a blunt +word, I would be alone.” + +“Nay, but I have things to speak with thee about of moment,” replied +Oliver, who, afraid to stay, seemed yet unwilling to go. “There has been +a stir in our city council about the affair of St. Valentine’s Even. The +provost told me not four hours since, that the Douglas and he had agreed +that the feud should be decided by a yeoman on either party and that our +acquaintance, the Devil’s Dick, was to wave his gentry, and take up the +cause for Douglas and the nobles, and that you or I should fight for the +Fair City. Now, though I am the elder burgess, yet I am willing, for the +love and kindness we have always borne to each other, to give thee the +precedence, and content myself with the humbler office of stickler.” + +Henry Smith, though angry, could scarce forbear a smile. + +“If it is that which breaks thy quiet, and keeps thee out of thy bed at +midnight, I will make the matter easy. Thou shalt not lose the advantage +offered thee. I have fought a score of duels--far, far too many. +Thou hast, I think, only encountered with thy wooden soldan: it were +unjust--unfair--unkind--in me to abuse thy friendly offer. So go home, +good fellow, and let not the fear of losing honour disturb thy slumbers. +Rest assured that thou shalt answer the challenge, as good right thou +hast, having had injury from this rough rider.” + +“Gramercy, and thank thee kindly,” said Oliver much embarrassed by his +friend’s unexpected deference; “thou art the good friend I have always +thought thee. But I have as much friendship for Henry Smith as he for +Oliver Proudfute. I swear by St. John, I will not fight in this +quarrel to thy prejudice; so, having said so, I am beyond the reach of +temptation, since thou wouldst not have me mansworn, though it were to +fight twenty duels.” + +“Hark thee,” said the smith, “acknowledge thou art afraid, Oliver: tell +the honest truth, at once, otherwise I leave thee to make the best of +thy quarrel.” + +“Nay, good gossip,” replied the bonnet maker, “thou knowest I am never +afraid. But, in sooth, this is a desperate ruffian; and as I have a +wife--poor Maudie, thou knowest--and a small family, and thou--” + +“And I,” interrupted Henry, hastily, “have none, and never shall have.” + +“Why, truly, such being the case, I would rather thou fought’st this +combat than I.” + +“Now, by our halidome, gossip,” answered the smith, “thou art easily +gored! Know, thou silly fellow, that Sir Patrick Charteris, who is ever +a merry man, hath but jested with thee. Dost thou think he would venture +the honour of the city on thy head, or that I would yield thee the +precedence in which such a matter was to be disputed? Lackaday, go home, +let Maudie tie a warm nightcap on thy head, get thee a warm breakfast +and a cup of distilled waters, and thou wilt be in ease tomorrow to +fight thy wooden dromond, or soldan, as thou call’st him, the only thing +thou wilt ever lay downright blow upon.” + +“Ay, say’st thou so, comrade?” answered Oliver, much relieved, yet +deeming it necessary to seem in part offended. “I care not for thy +dogged humour; it is well for thee thou canst not wake my patience to +the point of falling foul. Enough--we are gossips, and this house is +thine. Why should the two best blades in Perth clash with each other? +What! I know thy rugged humour, and can forgive it. But is the feud +really soldered up?” + +“As completely as ever hammer fixed rivet,” said the smith. “The town +hath given the Johnstone a purse of gold, for not ridding them of a +troublesome fellow called Oliver Proudfute, when he had him at his +mercy; and this purse of gold buys for the provost the Sleepless Isle, +which the King grants him, for the King pays all in the long run. And +thus Sir Patrick gets the comely inch which is opposite to his dwelling, +and all honour is saved on both sides, for what is given to the provost +is given, you understand, to the town. Besides all this, the Douglas +hath left Perth to march against the Southron, who, men say, are called +into the marches by the false Earl of March. So the Fair City is quit of +him and his cumber.” + +“But, in St. John’s name, how came all that about,” said Oliver, “and no +one spoken to about it?” + +“Why, look thee, friend Oliver, this I take to have been the case. The +fellow whom I cropped of a hand is now said to have been a servant of +Sir John Ramorny’s, who hath fled to his motherland of Fife, to which +Sir John himself is also to be banished, with full consent of every +honest man. Now, anything which brings in Sir John Ramorny touches +a much greater man--I think Simon Glover told as much to Sir Patrick +Charteris. If it be as I guess, I have reason to thank Heaven and all +the saints I stabbed him not upon the ladder when I made him prisoner.” + +“And I too thank Heaven and all the saints, most devoutly,” said Oliver. +“I was behind thee, thou knowest, and--” + +“No more of that, if thou be’st wise. There are laws against striking +princes,” said the smith: “best not handle the horseshoe till it cools. +All is hushed up now.” + +“If this be so,” said Oliver, partly disconcerted, but still more +relieved, by the intelligence he received from his better informed +friend, “I have reason to complain of Sir Patrick Charteris for jesting +with the honour of an honest burgess, being, as he is, provost of our +town.” + +“Do, Oliver; challenge him to the field, and he will bid his yeoman +loose his dogs on thee. But come, night wears apace, will you be +shogging?” + +“Nay, I had one word more to say to thee, good gossip. But first, +another cup of your cold ale.” + +“Pest on thee for a fool! Thou makest me wish thee where told liquors +are a scarce commodity. There, swill the barrelful an thou wilt.” + +Oliver took the second flagon, but drank, or rather seemed to drink, +very slowly, in order to gain time for considering how he should +introduce his second subject of conversation, which seemed rather +delicate for the smith’s present state of irritability. At length, +nothing better occurred to him than to plunge into the subject at once, +with, “I have seen Simon Glover today, gossip.” + +“Well,” said the smith, in a low, deep, and stern tone of voice, “and if +thou hast, what is that to me?” + +“Nothing--nothing,” answered the appalled bonnet maker. “Only I thought +you might like to know that he questioned me close if I had seen thee +on St. Valentine’s Day, after the uproar at the Dominicans’, and in what +company thou wert.” + +“And I warrant thou told’st him thou met’st me with a glee woman in the +mirk loaning yonder?” + +“Thou know’st, Henry, I have no gift at lying; but I made it all up with +him.” + +“As how, I pray you?” said the smith. + +“Marry, thus: ‘Father Simon,’ said I, ‘you are an old man, and know not +the quality of us, in whose veins youth is like quicksilver. You think, +now, he cares about this girl,’ said I, ‘and, perhaps, that he has her +somewhere here in Perth in a corner? No such matter; I know,’ said I, +‘and I will make oath to it, that she left his house early next morning +for Dundee.’ Ha! have I helped thee at need?” + +“Truly, I think thou hast, and if anything could add to my grief and +vexation at this moment, it is that, when I am so deep in the mire, +an ass like thee should place his clumsy hoof on my head, to sink me +entirely. Come, away with thee, and mayst thou have such luck as thy +meddling humour deserves; and then I think, thou wilt be found with a +broken neck in the next gutter. Come, get you out, or I will put you to +the door with head and shoulders forward.” + +“Ha--ha!” exclaimed Oliver, laughing with some constraint, “thou art +such a groom! But in sadness, gossip Henry, wilt thou not take a turn +with me to my own house, in the Meal Vennel?” + +“Curse thee, no,” answered the smith. + +“I will bestow the wine on thee if thou wilt go,” said Oliver. + +“I will bestow the cudgel on thee if thou stay’st,” said Henry. + +“Nay, then, I will don thy buff coat and cap of steel, and walk with thy +swashing step, and whistling thy pibroch of ‘Broken Bones at Loncarty’; +and if they take me for thee, there dare not four of them come near me.” + +“Take all or anything thou wilt, in the fiend’s name! only be gone.” + +“Well--well, Hal, we shall meet when thou art in better humour,” said +Oliver, who had put on the dress. + +“Go; and may I never see thy coxcombly face again.” + +Oliver at last relieved his host by swaggering off, imitating as well as +he could the sturdy step and outward gesture of his redoubted companion, +and whistling a pibroch composed on the rout of the Danes at Loncarty, +which he had picked up from its being a favourite of the smith’s, whom +he made a point of imitating as far as he could. But as the innocent, +though conceited, fellow stepped out from the entrance of the wynd, +where it communicated with the High Street, he received a blow from +behind, against which his headpiece was no defence, and he fell dead +upon the spot, an attempt to mutter the name of Henry, to whom he always +looked for protection, quivering upon his dying tongue. + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + Nay, I will fit you for a young prince. + + Falstaff. + + +We return to the revellers, who had, half an hour before, witnessed, +with such boisterous applause, Oliver’s feat of agility, being the +last which the poor bonnet maker was ever to exhibit, and at the hasty +retreat which had followed it, animated by their wild shout. After they +had laughed their fill, they passed on their mirthful path in frolic and +jubilee, stopping and frightening some of the people whom they met, but, +it must be owned, without doing them any serious injury, either in their +persons or feelings. At length, tired with his rambles, their chief gave +a signal to his merry men to close around him. + +“We, my brave hearts and wise counsellors, are,” he said, “the real king +over all in Scotland that is worth commanding. We sway the hours when +the wine cup circulates, and when beauty becomes kind, when frolic is +awake, and gravity snoring upon his pallet. We leave to our vice regent, +King Robert, the weary task of controlling ambitious nobles, gratifying +greedy clergymen, subduing wild Highlanders, and composing deadly feuds. +And since our empire is one of joy and pleasure, meet it is that we +should haste with all our forces to the rescue of such as own our sway, +when they chance, by evil fortune, to become the prisoners of care and +hypochondriac malady. I speak in relation chiefly to Sir John, whom the +vulgar call Ramorny. We have not seen him since the onslaught of Curfew +Street, and though we know he was somedeal hurt in that matter, we +cannot see why he should not do homage in leal and duteous sort. Here, +you, our Calabash King at arms, did you legally summon Sir John to his +part of this evening’s revels?” + +“I did, my lord.” + +“And did you acquaint him that we have for this night suspended his +sentence of banishment, that, since higher powers have settled that +part, we might at least take a mirthful leave of an old friend?” + +“I so delivered it, my lord,” answered the mimic herald. + +“And sent he not a word in writing, he that piques himself upon being so +great a clerk?” + +“He was in bed, my lord, and I might not see him. So far as I hear, he +hath lived very retired, harmed with some bodily bruises, malcontent +with your Highness’s displeasure, and doubting insult in the streets, he +having had a narrow escape from the burgesses, when the churls pursued +him and his two servants into the Dominican convent. The servants, too, +have been removed to Fife, lest they should tell tales.” + +“Why, it was wisely done,” said the Prince, who, we need not inform the +intelligent reader, had a better title to be so called than arose from +the humours of the evening--“it was prudently done to keep light tongued +companions out of the way. But St. John’s absenting himself from our +solemn revels, so long before decreed, is flat mutiny and disclamation +of allegiance. Or, if the knight be really the prisoner of illness and +melancholy, we must ourself grace him with a visit, seeing there can be +no better cure for those maladies than our own presence, and a gentle +kiss of the calabash. Forward, ushers, minstrels, guard, and attendants! +Bear on high the great emblem of our dignity. Up with the calabash, I +say, and let the merry men who carry these firkins, which are to supply +the wine cup with their life blood, be chosen with regard to their state +of steadiness. Their burden is weighty and precious, and if the fault +is not in our eyes, they seem to us to reel and stagger more than were +desirable. Now, move on, sirs, and let our minstrels blow their blythest +and boldest.” + +On they went with tipsy mirth and jollity, the numerous torches flashing +their red light against the small windows of the narrow streets, from +whence nightcapped householders, and sometimes their wives to boot, +peeped out by stealth to see what wild wassail disturbed the peaceful +streets at that unwonted hour. At length the jolly train halted before +the door of Sir John Ramorny’s house, which a small court divided from +the street. + +Here they knocked, thundered, and halloo’d, with many denunciations of +vengeance against the recusants who refused to open the gates. The least +punishment threatened was imprisonment in an empty hogshead, within the +massamore [principal dungeon] of the Prince of Pastimes’ feudal palace, +videlicet, the ale cellar. But Eviot, Ramorny’s page, heard and knew +well the character of the intruders who knocked so boldly, and thought +it better, considering his master’s condition, to make no answer at +all, in hopes that the revel would pass on, than to attempt to deprecate +their proceedings, which he knew would be to no purpose. His master’s +bedroom looking into a little garden, his page hoped he might not be +disturbed by the noise; and he was confident in the strength of the +outward gate, upon which he resolved they should beat till they tired +themselves, or till the tone of their drunken humour should change. The +revellers accordingly seemed likely to exhaust themselves in the noise +they made by shouting and beating the door, when their mock prince +(alas! too really such) upbraided them as lazy and dull followers of the +god of wine and of mirth. + +“Bring forward,” he said, “our key, yonder it lies, and apply it to this +rebellious gate.” + +The key he pointed at was a large beam of wood, left on one side of the +street, with the usual neglect of order characteristic of a Scottish +borough of the period. + +The shouting men of Ind instantly raised it in their arms, and, +supporting it by their united strength, ran against the door with such +force, that hasp, hinge, and staple jingled, and gave fair promise of +yielding. Eviot did not choose to wait the extremity of this battery: he +came forth into the court, and after some momentary questions for form’s +sake, caused the porter to undo the gate, as if he had for the first +time recognised the midnight visitors. + +“False slave of an unfaithful master,” said the Prince, “where is our +disloyal subject, Sir John Ramorny, who has proved recreant to our +summons?” + +“My lord,” said Eviot, bowing at once to the real and to the assumed +dignity of the leader, “my master is just now very much indisposed: he +has taken an opiate--and--your Highness must excuse me if I do my duty +to him in saying, he cannot be spoken with without danger of his life.” + +“Tush! tell me not of danger, Master Teviot--Cheviot--Eviot--what is it +they call thee? But show me thy master’s chamber, or rather undo me the +door of his lodging, and I will make a good guess at it myself. Bear +high the calabash, my brave followers, and see that you spill not a drop +of the liquor, which Dan Bacchus has sent for the cure of all diseases +of the body and cares of the mind. Advance it, I say, and let us see the +holy rind which incloses such precious liquor.” + +The Prince made his way into the house accordingly, and, acquainted +with its interior, ran upstairs, followed by Eviot, in vain imploring +silence, and, with the rest of the rabble rout, burst into the room of +the wounded master of the lodging. + +He who has experienced the sensation of being compelled to sleep in +spite of racking bodily pains by the administration of a strong opiate, +and of having been again startled by noise and violence out of the +unnatural state of insensibility in which he had been plunged by the +potency of the medicine, may be able to imagine the confused and alarmed +state of Sir John Ramorny’s mind, and the agony of his body, which +acted and reacted upon each other. If we add to these feelings the +consciousness of a criminal command, sent forth and in the act of being +executed, it may give us some idea of an awakening to which, in the mind +of the party, eternal sleep would be a far preferable doom. The groan +which he uttered as the first symptom of returning sensation had +something in it so terrific, that even the revellers were awed into +momentary silence; and as, from the half recumbent posture in which +he had gone to sleep, he looked around the room, filled with fantastic +shapes, rendered still more so by his disturbed intellects, he muttered +to himself: + +“It is thus, then, after all, and the legend is true! These are fiends, +and I am condemned for ever! The fire is not external, but I feel it--I +feel it at my heart--burning as if the seven times heated furnace were +doing its work within!” + +While he cast ghastly looks around him, and struggled to recover some +share of recollection, Eviot approached the Prince, and, falling on his +knees, implored him to allow the apartment to be cleared. + +“It may,” he said, “cost my master his life.” + +“Never fear, Cheviot,” replied the Duke of Rothsay; “were he at the +gates of death, here is what should make the fiends relinquish their +prey. Advance the calabash, my masters.” + +“It is death for him to taste it in his present state,” said Eviot: “if +he drinks wine he dies.” + +“Some one must drink it for him--he shall be cured vicariously; and +may our great Dan Bacchus deign to Sir John Ramorny the comfort, the +elevation of heart, the lubrication of lungs, and lightness of fancy, +which are his choicest gifts, while the faithful follower, who quaffs +in his stead, shall have the qualms, the sickness, the racking of the +nerves, the dimness of the eyes, and the throbbing of the brain, with +which our great master qualifies gifts which would else make us too like +the gods. What say you, Eviot? will you be the faithful follower that +will quaff in your lord’s behalf, and as his representative? Do this, +and we will hold ourselves contented to depart, for, methinks, our +subject doth look something ghastly.” + +“I would do anything in my slight power,” said Eviot, “to save my master +from a draught which may be his death, and your Grace from the sense +that you had occasioned it. But here is one who will perform the feat of +goodwill, and thank your Highness to boot.” + +“Whom have we here?” said the Prince, “a butcher, and I think fresh from +his office. Do butchers ply their craft on Fastern’s Eve? Foh, how he +smells of blood!” + +This was spoken of Bonthron, who, partly surprised at the tumult in the +house, where he had expected to find all dark and silent, and partly +stupid through the wine which the wretch had drunk in great quantities, +stood in the threshold of the door, staring at the scene before him, +with his buff coat splashed with blood, and a bloody axe in his hand, +exhibiting a ghastly and disgusting spectacle to the revellers, who +felt, though they could not tell why, fear as well as dislike at his +presence. + +As they approached the calabash to this ungainly and truculent looking +savage, and as he extended a hand soiled as it seemed with blood, to +grasp it, the Prince called out: + +“Downstairs with him! let not the wretch drink in our presence; find him +some other vessel than our holy calabash, the emblem of our revels: a +swine’s trough were best, if it could be come by. Away with him! let him +be drenched to purpose, in atonement for his master’s sobriety. Leave me +alone with Sir John Ramorny and his page; by my honour, I like not yon +ruffian’s looks.” + +The attendants of the Prince left the apartment, and Eviot alone +remained. + +“I fear,” said the Prince, approaching the bed in different form from +that which he had hitherto used--“I fear, my dear Sir John, that this +visit has been unwelcome; but it is your own fault. Although you know +our old wont, and were your self participant of our schemes for the +evening, you have not come near us since St. Valentine’s; it is now +Fastern’s Even, and the desertion is flat disobedience and treason to +our kingdom of mirth and the statutes of the calabash.” + +Ramorny raised his head, and fixed a wavering eye upon the Prince; then +signed to Eviot to give him something to drink. A large cup of ptisan +was presented by the page, which the sick man swallowed with eager and +trembling haste. He then repeatedly used the stimulating essence left +for the purpose by the leech, and seemed to collect his scattered +senses. + +“Let me feel your pulse, dear Ramorny,” said the Prince; “I know +something of that craft. How! Do your offer me the left hand, Sir John? +that is neither according to the rules of medicine nor of courtesy.” + +“The right has already done its last act in your Highness’s service,” + muttered the patient in a low and broken tone. + +“How mean you by that?” said the Prince. “I am aware thy follower, Black +Quentin, lost a hand; but he can steal with the other as much as will +bring him to the gallows, so his fate cannot be much altered.” + +“It is not that fellow who has had the loss in your Grace’s service: it +is I, John of Ramorny.” + +“You!” said the Prince; “you jest with me, or the opiate still masters +your reason.” + +“If the juice of all the poppies in Egypt were blended in one draught,” + said Ramorny, “it would lose influence over me when I look upon this.” + He drew his right arm from beneath the cover of the bedclothes, and +extending it towards the Prince, wrapped as it was in dressings, “Were +these undone and removed,” he said, “your Highness would see that a +bloody stump is all that remains of a hand ever ready to unsheath the +sword at your Grace’s slightest bidding.” + +Rothsay started back in horror. “This,” he said, “must be avenged!” + +“It is avenged in small part,” said Ramorny--“that is, I thought I saw +Bonthron but now; or was it that the dream of hell that first arose in +my mind when I awakened summoned up an image so congenial? Eviot, call +the miscreant--that is, if he is fit to appear.” + +Eviot retired, and presently returned with Bonthron, whom he had rescued +from the penance, to him no unpleasing infliction, of a second calabash +of wine, the brute having gorged the first without much apparent +alteration in his demeanour. + +“Eviot,” said the Prince, “let not that beast come nigh me. My soul +recoils from him in fear and disgust: there is something in his looks +alien from my nature, and which I shudder at as at a loathsome snake, +from which my instinct revolts.” + +“First hear him speak, my lord,” answered Ramorny; “unless a wineskin +were to talk, nothing could use fewer words. Hast thou dealt with him, +Bonthron?” + +The savage raised the axe which he still held in his hand, and brought +it down again edgeways. + +“Good. How knew you your man? the night, I am told, is dark.” + +“By sight and sound, garb, gait, and whistle.” + +“Enough, vanish! and, Eviot, let him have gold and wine to his brutish +contentment. Vanish! and go thou with him.” + +“And whose death is achieved?” said the Prince, released from the +feelings of disgust and horror under which he suffered while the +assassin was in presence. “I trust this is but a jest! Else must I call +it a rash and savage deed. Who has had the hard lot to be butchered by +that bloody and brutal slave?” + +“One little better than himself,” said the patient, “a wretched artisan, +to whom, however, fate gave the power of reducing Ramorny to a mutilated +cripple--a curse go with his base spirit! His miserable life is but +to my revenge what a drop of water would be to a furnace. I must speak +briefly, for my ideas again wander: it is only the necessity of the +moment which keeps them together; as a thong combines a handful of +arrows. You are in danger, my lord--I speak it with certainty: you have +braved Douglas, and offended your uncle, displeased your father, though +that were a trifle, were it not for the rest.” + +“I am sorry I have displeased my father,” said the Prince, entirely +diverted from so insignificant a thing as the slaughter of an artisan by +the more important subject touched upon, “if indeed it be so. But if +I live, the strength of the Douglas shall be broken, and the craft of +Albany shall little avail him!” + +“Ay--if--if. My lord,” said Ramorny, “with such opposites as you have, +you must not rest upon if or but; you must resolve at once to slay or be +slain.” + +“How mean you, Ramorny? Your fever makes you rave” answered the Duke of +Rothsay. + +“No, my lord,” said Ramorny, “were my frenzy at the highest, the +thoughts that pass through my mind at this moment would qualify it. It +may be that regret for my own loss has made me desperate, that anxious +thoughts for your Highness’s safety have made me nourish bold designs; +but I have all the judgment with which Heaven has gifted me, when I tell +you that, if ever you would brook the Scottish crown, nay, more, if ever +you would see another St. Valentine’s Day, you must--” + +“What is it that I must do, Ramorny?” said the Prince, with an air of +dignity; “nothing unworthy of myself, I hope?” + +“Nothing, certainly, unworthy or misbecoming a prince of Scotland, if +the bloodstained annals of our country tell the tale truly; but that +which may well shock the nerves of a prince of mimes and merry makers.” + +“Thou art severe, Sir John Ramorny,” said the Duke of Rothsay, with an +air of displeasure; “but thou hast dearly bought a right to censure us +by what thou hast lost in our cause.” + +“My Lord of Rothsay,” said the knight, “the chirurgeon who dressed this +mutilated stump told me that the more I felt the pain his knife and +brand inflicted, the better was my chance of recovery. I shall not, +therefore, hesitate to hurt your feelings, while by doing so I may be +able to bring you to a sense of what is necessary for your safety. Your +Grace has been the pupil of mirthful folly too long; you must now assume +manly policy, or be crushed like a butterfly on the bosom of the flower +you are sporting on.” + +“I think I know your cast of morals, Sir John: you are weary of merry +folly--the churchmen call it vice--and long for a little serious crime. +A murder, now, or a massacre, would enhance the flavour of debauch, as +the taste of the olive gives zest to wine. But my worst acts are but +merry malice: I have no relish for the bloody trade, and abhor to see or +hear of its being acted even on the meanest caitiff. Should I ever fill +the throne, I suppose, like my father before me, I must drop my own +name, and be dubbed Robert, in honour of the Bruce; well, an if it be +so, every Scots lad shall have his flag on in one hand and the other +around his lass’s neck, and manhood shall be tried by kisses and +bumpers, not by dirks and dourlachs; and they shall write on my grave, +‘Here lies Robert, fourth of his name. He won not battles like Robert +the First. He rose not from a count to a king like Robert the Second. +He founded not churches like Robert the Third, but was contented to live +and die king of good fellows!’ Of all my two centuries of ancestors, I +would only emulate the fame of-- + +“Old King Coul, Who had a brown bowl.” + +“My gracious lord,” said Ramorny, “let me remind you that your joyous +revels involve serious evils. If I had lost this hand in fighting to +attain for your Grace some important advantage over your too powerful +enemies, the loss would never have grieved me. But to be reduced from +helmet and steel coat to biggin and gown in a night brawl--” + +“Why, there again now, Sir John,” interrupted the reckless Prince. “How +canst thou be so unworthy as to be for ever flinging thy bloody hand in +my face, as the ghost of Gaskhall threw his head at Sir William Wallace? +Bethink thee, thou art more unreasonable than Fawdyon himself; for wight +Wallace had swept his head off in somewhat a hasty humour, whereas I +would gladly stick thy hand on again, were that possible. And, hark +thee, since that cannot be, I will get thee such a substitute as the +steel hand of the old knight of Carslogie, with which he greeted his +friends, caressed his wife, braved his antagonists, and did all that +might be done by a hand of flesh and blood, in offence or defence. +Depend on it, John Ramorny, we have much that is superfluous about us. +Man can see with one eye, hear with one ear, touch with one hand, smell +with one nostril; and why we should have two of each, unless to supply +an accidental loss or injury, I for one am at a loss to conceive.” + +Sir John Ramorny turned from the Prince with a low groan. + +“Nay, Sir John;” said the Duke, “I am quite serious. You know the truth +touching the legend of Steel Hand of Carslogie better than I, since he +was your own neighbour. In his time that curious engine could only be +made in Rome; but I will wager an hundred marks with you that, let the +Perth armourer have the use of it for a pattern, Henry of the Wynd +will execute as complete an imitation as all the smiths in Rome could +accomplish, with all the cardinals to bid a blessing on the work.” + +“I could venture to accept your wager, my lord,” answered Ramorny, +bitterly, “but there is no time for foolery. You have dismissed me from +your service, at command of your uncle?” + +“At command of my father,” answered the Prince. + +“Upon whom your uncle’s commands are imperative,” replied Ramorny. “I +am a disgraced man, thrown aside, as I may now fling away my right hand +glove, as a thing useless. Yet my head might help you, though my hand +be gone. Is your Grace disposed to listen to me for one word of serious +import, for I am much exhausted, and feel my force sinking under me?” + +“Speak your pleasure,” said the Prince; “thy loss binds me to hear +thee, thy bloody stump is a sceptre to control me. Speak, then, but be +merciful in thy strength of privilege.” + +“I will be brief for mine own sake as well as thine; indeed, I have but +little to say. Douglas places himself immediately at the head of his +vassals. He will assemble, in the name of King Robert, thirty thousand +Borderers, whom he will shortly after lead into the interior, to demand +that the Duke of Rothsay receive, or rather restore, his daughter to +the rank and privileges of his Duchess. King Robert will yield to any +conditions which may secure peace. What will the Duke do?” + +“The Duke of Rothsay loves peace,” said the Prince, haughtily; “but he +never feared war. Ere he takes back yonder proud peat to his table +and his bed, at the command of her father, Douglas must be King of +Scotland.” + +“Be it so; but even this is the less pressing peril, especially as it +threatens open violence, for the Douglas works not in secret.” + +“What is there which presses, and keeps us awake at this late hour? I am +a weary man, thou a wounded one, and the very tapers are blinking, as if +tired of our conference.” + +“Tell me, then, who is it that rules this kingdom of Scotland?” said +Ramorny. + +“Robert, third of the name,” said the Prince, raising his bonnet as he +spoke; “and long may he sway the sceptre!” + +“True, and amen,” answered Ramorny; “but who sways King Robert, and +dictates almost every measure which the good King pursues?” + +“My Lord of Albany, you would say,” replied the Prince. “Yes, it is true +my father is guided almost entirely by the counsels of his brother; nor +can we blame him in our consciences, Sir John Ramorny, for little help +hath he had from his son.” + +“Let us help him now, my lord,” said Ramorny. “I am possessor of a +dreadful secret: Albany hath been trafficking with me, to join him +in taking your Grace’s life! He offers full pardon for the past, high +favour for the future.” + +“How, man--my life? I trust, though, thou dost only mean my kingdom? It +were impious! He is my father’s brother--they sat on the knees of the +same father--lay in the bosom of the same mother. Out on thee, man, what +follies they make thy sickbed believe!” + +“Believe, indeed!” said Ramorny. “It is new to me to be termed +credulous. But the man through whom Albany communicated his temptations +is one whom all will believe so soon as he hints at mischief--even the +medicaments which are prepared by his hands have a relish of poison.” + +“Tush! such a slave would slander a saint,” replied the Prince. “Thou +art duped for once, Ramorny, shrewd as thou art. My uncle of Albany +is ambitious, and would secure for himself and for his house a larger +portion of power and wealth than he ought in reason to desire. But to +suppose he would dethrone or slay his brother’s son--Fie, Ramorny! put +me not to quote the old saw, that evil doers are evil dreaders. It is +your suspicion, not your knowledge, which speaks.” + +“Your Grace is fatally deluded. I will put it to an issue. The Duke of +Albany is generally hated for his greed and covetousness. Your Highness +is, it may be, more beloved than--” + +Ramorny stopped, the Prince calmly filled up the blank: “More beloved +than I am honoured. It is so I would have it, Ramorny.” + +“At least,” said Ramorny, “you are more beloved than you are feared, +and that is no safe condition for a prince. But give me your honour and +knightly word that you will not resent what good service I shall do in +your behalf, and lend me your signet to engage friends in your name, +and the Duke of Albany shall not assume authority in this court till the +wasted hand which once terminated this stump shall be again united to +the body, and acting in obedience to the dictates of my mind.” + +“You would not venture to dip your hands in royal blood?” said the +Prince sternly. + +“Fie, my lord, at no rate. Blood need not be shed; life may, nay, will, +be extinguished of itself. For want of trimming it with fresh oil, or +screening it from a breath of wind, the quivering light will die in the +socket. To suffer a man to die is not to kill him.” + +“True--I had forgot that policy. Well, then, suppose my uncle Albany +does not continue to live--I think that must be the phrase--who then +rules the court of Scotland?” + +“Robert the Third, with consent, advice, and authority of the most +mighty David, Duke of Rothsay, Lieutenant of the Kingdom, and alter ego; +in whose favour, indeed, the good King, wearied with the fatigues and +troubles of sovereignty, will, I guess, be well disposed to abdicate. So +long live our brave young monarch, King David the Third! + +“Ille manu fortis Anglis ludebit in hortis.” + +“And our father and predecessor,” said Rothsay, “will he continue to +live to pray for us, as our beadsman, by whose favour he holds the +privilege of laying his grey hairs in the grave as soon, and no earlier, +than the course of nature permits, or must he also encounter some of +those negligences in consequence of which men cease to continue to live, +and can change the limits of a prison, or of a convent resembling one, +for the dark and tranquil cell, where the priests say that the wicked +cease from troubling and the weary are at rest?” + +“You speak in jest, my lord,” replied Ramorny: “to harm the good old +King were equally unnatural and impolitic.” + +“Why shrink from that, man, when thy whole scheme,” answered the Prince, +in stern displeasure, “is one lesson of unnatural guilt, mixed with +short sighted ambition? If the King of Scotland can scarcely make +head against his nobles, even now when he can hold up before them an +unsullied and honourable banner, who would follow a prince that is +blackened with the death of an uncle and the imprisonment of a father? +Why, man, thy policy were enough to revolt a heathen divan, to say +nought of the council of a Christian nation. Thou wert my tutor, +Ramorny, and perhaps I might justly upbraid thy lessons and example for +some of the follies which men chide in me. Perhaps, if it had not been +for thee, I had not been standing at midnight in this fool’s guise +(looking at his dress), to hear an ambitious profligate propose to me +the murder of an uncle, the dethronement of the best of fathers. Since +it is my fault as well as thine that has sunk me so deep in the gulf of +infamy, it were unjust that thou alone shouldst die for it. But dare not +to renew this theme to me, on peril of thy life! I will proclaim thee to +my father--to Albany--to Scotland--throughout its length and breadth. +As many market crosses as are in the land shall have morsels of +the traitor’s carcass, who dare counsel such horrors to the heir of +Scotland. Well hope I, indeed, that the fever of thy wound, and the +intoxicating influence of the cordials which act on thy infirm brain, +have this night operated on thee, rather than any fixed purpose.” + +“In sooth, my lord,” said Ramorny, “if I have said any thing which could +so greatly exasperate your Highness, it must have been by excess of +zeal, mingled with imbecility of understanding. Surely I, of all men, am +least likely to propose ambitious projects with a prospect of advantage +to myself! Alas! my only future views must be to exchange lance and +saddle for the breviary and the confessional. The convent of Lindores +must receive the maimed and impoverished knight of Ramorny, who will +there have ample leisure to meditate upon the text, ‘Put not thy faith +in princes.’” + +“It is a goodly purpose,” said the Prince, “and we will not be lacking +to promote it. Our separation, I thought, would have been but for a +time. It must now be perpetual. Certainly, after such talk as we have +held, it were meet that we should live asunder. But the convent of +Lindores, or what ever other house receives thee, shall be richly +endowed and highly favoured by us. And now, Sir John of Ramorny, +sleep--sleep--and forget this evil omened conversation, in which the +fever of disease and of wine has rather, I trust, held colloquy than +your own proper thoughts. Light to the door, Eviot.” + +A call from Eviot summoned the attendants of the Prince, who had been +sleeping on the staircase and hall, exhausted by the revels of the +evening. + +“Is there none amongst you sober?” said the Duke of Rothsay, disgusted +by the appearance of his attendants. + +“Not a man--not a man,” answered the followers, with a drunken shout, +“we are none of us traitors to the Emperor of Merry makers!” + +“And are all of you turned into brutes, then?” said the Prince. + +“In obedience and imitation of your Grace,” answered one fellow; “or, if +we are a little behind your Highness, one pull at the pitcher will--” + +“Peace, beast!” said the Duke of Rothsay. “Are there none of you sober, +I say?” + +“Yes, my noble liege,” was the answer; “here is one false brother, +Watkins the Englishman.” + +“Come hither then, Watkins, and aid me with a torch; give me a cloak, +too, and another bonnet, and take away this trumpery,” throwing down +his coronet of feathers. “I would I could throw off all my follies +as easily. English Wat, attend me alone, and the rest of you end your +revelry, and doff your mumming habits. The holytide is expended, and the +fast has begun.” + +“Our monarch has abdicated sooner than usual this night,” said one +of the revel rout; but as the Prince gave no encouragement, such as +happened for the time to want the virtue of sobriety endeavoured to +assume it as well as they could, and the whole of the late rioters began +to adopt the appearance of a set of decent persons, who, having been +surprised into intoxication, endeavoured to disguise their condition by +assuming a double portion of formality of behaviour. In the interim the +Prince, having made a hasty reform in his dress, was lighted to the door +by the only sober man of the company, but, in his progress thither, had +well nigh stumbled over the sleeping bulk of the brute Bonthron. + +“How now! is that vile beast in our way once more?” he said in anger and +disgust. “Here, some of you, toss this caitiff into the horse trough; +that for once in his life he may be washed clean.” + +While the train executed his commands, availing themselves of a fountain +which was in the outer court, and while Bonthron underwent a discipline +which he was incapable of resisting, otherwise than by some inarticulate +groans and snorts, like, those of a dying boar, the Prince proceeded on +his way to his apartments, in a mansion called the Constable’s lodgings, +from the house being the property of the Earls of Errol. On the way, to +divert his thoughts from the more unpleasing matters, the Prince asked +his companion how he came to be sober, when the rest of the party had +been so much overcome with liquor. + +“So please your honour’s Grace,” replied English Wat, “I confess it was +very familiar in me to be sober when it was your Grace’s pleasure that +your train should be mad drunk; but in respect they were all Scottishmen +but myself, I thought it argued no policy in getting drunken in their +company, seeing that they only endure me even when we are all sober, and +if the wine were uppermost, I might tell them a piece of my mind, and be +paid with as many stabs as there are skenes in the good company.” + +“So it is your purpose never to join any of the revels of our +household?” + +“Under favour, yes; unless it be your Grace’s pleasure that the residue +of your train should remain one day sober, to admit Will Watkins to get +drunk without terror of his life.” + +“Such occasion may arrive. Where dost thou serve, Watkins?” + +“In the stable, so please you.” + +“Let our chamberlain bring thee into the household, as a yeoman of the +night watch. I like thy favour, and it is something to have one sober +fellow in the house, although he is only such through the fear of death. +Attend, therefore, near our person; and thou shalt find sobriety a +thriving virtue.” + +Meantime a load of care and fear added to the distress of Sir John +Ramorny’s sick chamber. His reflections, disordered as they were by the +opiate, fell into great confusion when the Prince, in whose presence he +had suppressed its effect by strong resistance, had left the apartment. +His consciousness, which he had possessed perfectly during the +interview, began to be very much disturbed. He felt a general sense +that he had incurred a great danger, that he had rendered the Prince his +enemy, and that he had betrayed to him a secret which might affect his +own life. In this state of mind and body, it was not strange that he +should either dream, or else that his diseased organs should become +subject to that species of phantasmagoria which is excited by the use +of opium. He thought that the shade of Queen Annabella stood by his +bedside, and demanded the youth whom she had placed under his charge, +simple, virtuous, gay, and innocent. + +“Thou hast rendered him reckless, dissolute, and vicious,” said the +shade of pallid Majesty. “Yet I thank thee, John of Ramorny, ungrateful +to me, false to thy word, and treacherous to my hopes. Thy hate shall +counteract the evil which thy friendship has done to him. And well do +I hope that, now thou art no longer his counsellor, a bitter penance on +earth may purchase my ill fated child pardon and acceptance in a better +world.” + +Ramorny stretched out his arms after his benefactress, and endeavoured +to express contrition and excuse; but the countenance of the apparition +became darker and sterner, till it was no longer that of the late Queen, +but presented the gloomy and haughty aspect of the Black Douglas; then +the timid and sorrowful face of King Robert, who seemed to mourn over +the approaching dissolution of his royal house; and then a group of +fantastic features, partly hideous, partly ludicrous, which moped, and +chattered, and twisted themselves into unnatural and extravagant +forms, as if ridiculing his endeavour to obtain an exact idea of their +lineaments. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + A purple land, where law secures not life. + + BYRON. + + +The morning of Ash Wednesday arose pale and bleak, as usual at this +season in Scotland, where the worst and most inclement weather often +occurs in the early spring months. It was a severe day of frost, and the +citizens had to sleep away the consequences of the preceding holiday’s +debauchery. The sun had therefore risen for an hour above the horizon +before there was any general appearance of life among the inhabitants +of Perth, so that it was some time after daybreak when a citizen, going +early to mass, saw the body of the luckless Oliver Proudfute lying on +its face across the kennel in the manner in which he had fallen under +the blow; as our readers will easily imagine, of Anthony Bonthron, the +“boy of the belt”--that is the executioner of the pleasure--of John of +Ramorny. + +This early citizen was Allan Griffin, so termed because he was master +of the Griffin Inn; and the alarm which he raised soon brought together +first straggling neighbours, and by and by a concourse of citizens. At +first from the circumstance of the well known buff coat and the crimson +feather in the head piece, the noise arose that it was the stout smith +that lay there slain. This false rumour continued for some time, for the +host of the Griffin, who himself had been a magistrate, would not permit +the body to be touched or stirred till Bailie Craigdallie arrived, so +that the face was not seen.. + +“This concerns the Fair City, my friends,” he said, “and if it is the +stout Smith of the Wynd who lies here, the man lives not in Perth who +will not risk land and life to avenge him. Look you, the villains have +struck him down behind his back, for there is not a man within ten +Scotch miles of Perth, gentle or simple, Highland or Lowland, that +would have met him face to face with such evil purpose. Oh, brave men of +Perth! the flower of your manhood has been cut down, and that by a base +and treacherous hand.” + +A wild cry of fury arose from the people, who were fast assembling. + +“We will take him on our shoulders,” said a strong butcher, “we will +carry him to the King’s presence at the Dominican convent” + +“Ay--ay,” answered a blacksmith, “neither bolt nor bar shall keep us +from the King, neither monk nor mass shall break our purpose. A better +armourer never laid hammer on anvil!” + +“To the Dominicans--to the Dominicans!” shouted the assembled people. + +“Bethink you, burghers,” said another citizen, “our king is a good king +and loves us like his children. It is the Douglas and the Duke of Albany +that will not let good King Robert hear the distresses of his people.” + +“Are we to be slain in our own streets for the King’s softness of +heart?” said the butcher. “The Bruce did otherwise. If the King will not +keep us, we will keep ourselves. Ring the bells backward, every bell of +them that is made of metal. Cry, and spare not, St. Johnston’s hunt is +up!” + +“Ay,” cried another citizen, “and let us to the holds of Albany and the +Douglas, and burn them to the ground. Let the fires tell far and near +that Perth knew how to avenge her stout Henry Gow. He has fought a score +of times for the Fair City’s right; let us show we can once to avenge +his wrong. Hally ho! brave citizens, St. Johnston’s hunt is up!” + +This cry, the well known rallying word amongst the inhabitants of Perth, +and seldom heard but on occasions of general uproar, was echoed from +voice to voice; and one or two neighbouring steeples, of which the +enraged citizens possessed themselves, either by consent of the priests +or in spite of their opposition, began to ring out the ominous alarm +notes, in which, as the ordinary succession of the chimes was reversed, +the bells were said to be rung backward. + +Still, as the crowd thickened, and the roar waxed more universal and +louder, Allan Griffin, a burly man with a deep voice, and well respected +among high and low, kept his station as he bestrode the corpse, and +called loudly to the multitude to keep back and wait the arrival of the +magistrates. + +“We must proceed by order in this matter, my masters, we must have our +magistrates at our head. They are duly chosen and elected in our town +hall, good men and true every one; we will not be called rioters, or +idle perturbators of the king’s peace. Stand you still, and make room, +for yonder comes Bailie Craigdallie, ay, and honest Simon Glover, to +whom the Fair City is so much bounden. Alas--alas! my kind townsmen, his +beautiful daughter was a bride yesternight; this morning the Fair Maid +of Perth is a widow before she has been a wife.” + +This new theme of sympathy increased the rage and sorrow of the crowd +the more, as many women now mingled with them, who echoed back the alarm +cry to the men. + +“Ay--ay, St. Johnston’s hunt is up! For the Fair Maid of Perth and +the brave Henry Gow! Up--up, every one of you, spare not for your skin +cutting! To the stables!--to the stables! When the horse is gone the man +at arms is useless--cut off the grooms and yeomen; lame, maim, and stab +the horses; kill the base squires and pages. Let these proud knights +meet us on their feet if they dare!” + +“They dare not--they dare not,” answered the men; “their strength is +their horses and armour; and yet the haughty and ungrateful villains +have slain a man whose skill as an armourer was never matched in Milan +or Venice. To arms!--to arms, brave burghers! St. Johnston’s hunt is +up!” + +Amid this clamour, the magistrates and superior class of inhabitants +with difficulty obtained room to examine the body, having with them the +town clerk to take an official protocol, or, as it is still called, a +precognition, of the condition in which it was found. To these delays +the multitude submitted, with a patience and order which strongly marked +the national character of a people whose resentment has always been +the more deeply dangerous, that they will, without relaxing their +determination of vengeance, submit with patience to all delays which are +necessary to ensure its attainment. The multitude, therefore, received +their magistrates with a loud cry, in which the thirst of revenge was +announced, together with the deferential welcome to the patrons by whose +direction they expected to obtain it in right and legal fashion. + +While these accents of welcome still rung above the crowd, who now +filled the whole adjacent streets, receiving and circulating a thousand +varying reports, the fathers of the city caused the body to be raised +and more closely examined; when it was instantly perceived, and the +truth publicly announced, that not the armourer of the Wynd, so highly +and, according to the esteemed qualities of the time, so justly popular +among his fellow citizens, but a man of far less general estimation, +though not without his own value in society, lay murdered before +them--the brisk bonnet maker, Oliver Proudfute. The resentment of the +people had so much turned upon the general opinion that their frank +and brave champion, Henry Gow, was the slaughtered person, that the +contradiction of the report served to cool the general fury, although, +if poor Oliver had been recognised at first, there is little doubt that +the cry of vengeance would have been as unanimous, though not probably +so furious, as in the case of Henry Wynd. The first circulation of the +unexpected intelligence even excited a smile among the crowd, so near +are the confines of the ludicrous to those of the terrible. + +“The murderers have without doubt taken him for Henry Smith,” + said Griffin, “which must have been a great comfort to him in the +circumstances.” + +But the arrival of other persons on the scene soon restored its deeply +tragic character. + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + Who’s that that rings the bell? Diablos, ho! + The town will rise. + + Othello, Act II. Scene III. + + +The wild rumours which flew through the town, speedily followed by the +tolling of the alarm bells spread general consternation. The nobles +and knights, with their followers, gathered in different places of +rendezvous, where a defence could best be maintained; and the alarm +reached the royal residence where the young prince was one of the first +to appear, to assist, if necessary, in the defence of the old king. The +scene of the preceding night ran in his recollection; and, remembering +the bloodstained figure of Bonthron, he conceived, though indistinctly, +that the ruffian’s action had been connected with this uproar. The +subsequent and more interesting discourse with Sir John Ramorny had, +however, been of such an impressive nature as to obliterate all +traces of what he had vaguely heard of the bloody act of the assassin, +excepting a confused recollection that some one or other had been slain. +It was chiefly on his father’s account that he had assumed arms with his +household train, who, clad in bright armour, and bearing lances in +their hands, made now a figure very different from that of the preceding +night, when they appeared as intoxicated Bacchanalians. The kind old +monarch received this mark of filial attachment with tears of gratitude, +and proudly presented his son to his brother Albany, who entered shortly +afterwards. He took them each by the hand. + +“Now are we three Stuarts,” he said, “as inseparable as the holy +trefoil; and, as they say the wearer of that sacred herb mocks at +magical delusion, so we, while we are true to each other, may set malice +and enmity at defiance.” + +The brother and son kissed the kind hand which pressed theirs, while +Robert III expressed his confidence in their affection. The kiss of the +youth was, for the time, sincere; that of the brother was the salute of +the apostate Judas. + +In the mean time the bell of St. John’s church alarmed, amongst others, +the inhabitants of Curfew Street. In the house of Simon Glover, old +Dorothy Glover, as she was called (for she also took name from the trade +she practised, under her master’s auspices), was the first to catch the +sound. Though somewhat deaf upon ordinary occasions, her ear for bad +news was as sharp as a kite’s scent for carrion; for Dorothy, otherwise +an industrious, faithful, and even affectionate creature, had that +strong appetite for collecting and retailing sinister intelligence which +is often to be marked in the lower classes. Little accustomed to be +listened to, they love the attention which a tragic tale ensures to the +bearer, and enjoy, perhaps, the temporary equality to which misfortune +reduces those who are ordinarily accounted their superiors. Dorothy had +no sooner possessed herself of a slight packet of the rumours which were +flying abroad than she bounced into her master’s bedroom, who had taken +the privilege of age and the holytide to sleep longer than usual. + +“There he lies, honest man,” said Dorothy, half in a screeching and half +in a wailing tone of sympathy--“there he lies; his best friend slain, +and he knowing as little about it as the babe new born, that kens not +life from death.” + +“How now!” said the glover, starting up out of his bed. “What is the +matter, old woman? Is my daughter well?” + +“Old woman!” said Dorothy, who, having her fish hooked, chose to let him +play a little. “I am not so old,” said she, flouncing out of the room, +“as to bide in the place till a man rises from his naked bed--” + +And presently she was heard at a distance in the parlour beneath, +melodiously singing to the scrubbing of her own broom. + +“Dorothy--screech owl--devil--say but my daughter is well!” + +“I am well, my father,” answered the Fair Maid of Perth, speaking from +her bedroom, “perfectly well, but what, for Our Lady’s sake, is the +matter? The bells ring backward, and there is shrieking and crying in +the streets.” + +“I will presently know the cause. Here, Conachar, come speedily and +tie my points. I forgot--the Highland loon is far beyond Fortingall. +Patience, daughter, I will presently bring you news.” + +“Ye need not hurry yourself for that, Simon Glover,” quoth the obdurate +old woman; “the best and the worst of it may be tauld before you could +hobble over your door stane. I ken the haill story abroad; ‘for,’ +thought I, ‘our goodman is so wilful that he’ll be for banging out to +the tuilzie, be the cause what it like; and sae I maun e’en stir my +shanks, and learn the cause of all this, or he will hae his auld nose in +the midst of it, and maybe get it nipt off before he knows what for.’” + +“And what is the news, then, old woman?” said the impatient glover, +still busying himself with the hundred points or latchets which were the +means of attaching the doublet to the hose. + +Dorothy suffered him to proceed in his task till she conjectured it must +be nearly accomplished; and foresaw that; if she told not the secret +herself, her master would be abroad to seek in person for the cause of +the disturbance. She, therefore, halloo’d out: “Aweel--aweel, ye canna +say it is me fault, if you hear ill news before you have been at +the morning mass. I would have kept it from ye till ye had heard the +priest’s word; but since you must hear it, you have e’en lost the truest +friend that ever gave hand to another, and Perth maun mourn for the +bravest burgher that ever took a blade in hand!” + +“Harry Smith! Harry Smith!” exclaimed the father and the daughter at +once. + +“Oh, ay, there ye hae it at last,” said Dorothy; “and whose fault was it +but your ain? ye made such a piece of work about his companying with a +glee woman, as if he had companied with a Jewess!” + +Dorothy would have gone on long enough, but her master exclaimed to +his daughter, who was still in her own apartment: “It is nonsense, +Catharine--all the dotage of an old fool. No such thing has happened. +I will bring you the true tidings in a moment,” and snatching up his +staff, the old man hurried out past Dorothy and into the street, where +the throng of people were rushing towards the High Street. + +Dorothy, in the mean time, kept muttering to herself: “Thy father is a +wise man, take his ain word for it. He will come next by some scathe +in the hobbleshow, and then it will be, ‘Dorothy, get the lint,’ and +‘Dorothy, spread the plaster;’ but now it is nothing but nonsense, and +a lie, and impossibility, that can come out of Dorothy’s mouth. +Impossible! Does auld Simon think that Harry Smith’s head was as hard as +his stithy, and a haill clan of Highlandmen dinging at him?” + +Here she was interrupted by a figure like an angel, who came wandering +by her with wild eye, cheek deadly pale, hair dishevelled, and an +apparent want of consciousness, which terrified the old woman out of her +discontented humour. + +“Our Lady bless my bairn!” said she. “What look you sae wild for?” + +“Did you not say some one was dead?” said Catharine, with a frightful +uncertainty of utterance, as if her organs of speech and hearing served +her but imperfectly. + +“Dead, hinny! Ay--ay, dead eneugh; ye’ll no hae him to gloom at ony +mair.” + +“Dead!” repeated Catharine, still with the same uncertainty of voice and +manner. “Dead--slain--and by Highlanders?” + +“I’se warrant by Highlanders, the lawless loons. Wha is it else that +kills maist of the folks about, unless now and than when the burghers +take a tirrivie, and kill ane another, or whiles that the knights and +nobles shed blood? But I’se uphauld it’s been the Highlandmen this bout. +The man was no in Perth, laird or loon, durst have faced Henry Smith +man to man. There’s been sair odds against him; ye’ll see that when it’s +looked into.” + +“Highlanders!” repeated Catharine, as if haunted by some idea which +troubled her senses. “Highlanders! Oh, Conachar--Conachar!” + +“Indeed, and I dare say you have lighted on the very man, Catharine. +They quarrelled, as you saw, on the St. Valentine’s Even, and had a +warstle. A Highlandman has a long memory for the like of that. Gie him +a cuff at Martinmas, and his cheek will be tingling at Whitsunday. But +what could have brought down the lang legged loons to do their bloody +wark within burgh?” + +“Woe’s me, it was I,” said Catharine--“it was I brought the Highlanders +down--I that sent for Conachar--ay, they have lain in wait--but it was I +that brought them within reach of their prey. But I will see with my own +eyes--and then--something we will do. Say to my father I will be back +anon.” + +“Are ye distraught, lassie?” shouted Dorothy, as Catharine made past her +towards the street door. “You would not gang into the street with the +hair hanging down your haffets in that guise, and you kenn’d for the +Fair Maid of Perth? Mass, but she’s out in the street, come o’t what +like, and the auld Glover will be as mad as if I could withhold her, +will she nill she, flyte she fling she. This is a brave morning for an +Ash Wednesday! What’s to be done? If I were to seek my master among the +multitude, I were like to be crushed beneath their feet, and little moan +made for the old woman. And am I to run after Catharine, who ere this is +out of sight, and far lighter of foot than I am? so I will just down the +gate to Nicol Barber’s, and tell him a’ about it.” + +While the trusty Dorothy was putting her prudent resolve into execution, +Catharine ran through the streets of Perth in a manner which at another +moment would have brought on her the attention of every one who saw her +hurrying on with a reckless impetuosity wildly and widely different from +the ordinary decency and composure of her step and manner, and without +the plaid, scarf, or mantle which “women of good,” of fair character +and decent rank, universally carried around them, when they went abroad. +But, distracted as the people were, every one inquiring or telling +the cause of the tumult, and most recounting it different ways, +the negligence of her dress and discomposure of her manner made no +impression on any one; and she was suffered to press forward on the path +she had chosen without attracting more notice than the other females +who, stirred by anxious curiosity or fear, had come out to inquire the +cause of an alarm so general--it might be to seek for friends for whose +safety they were interested. + +As Catharine passed along, she felt all the wild influence of the +agitating scene, and it was with difficulty she forbore from repeating +the cries of lamentation and alarm which were echoed around her. In the +mean time, she rushed rapidly on, embarrassed like one in a dream, with +a strange sense of dreadful calamity, the precise nature of which she +was unable to define, but which implied the terrible consciousness that +the man who loved her so fondly, whose good qualities she so highly +esteemed, and whom she now felt to be dearer than perhaps she would +before have acknowledged to her own bosom, was murdered, and most +probably by her means. The connexion betwixt Henry’s supposed death and +the descent of Conachar and his followers, though adopted by her in a +moment of extreme and engrossing emotion, was sufficiently probable +to have been received for truth, even if her understanding had been +at leisure to examine its credibility. Without knowing what she sought +except the general desire to know the worst of the dreadful report, she +hurried forward to the very spot which of all others her feelings of the +preceding day would have induced her to avoid. + +Who would, upon the evening of Shrovetide, have persuaded the proud, the +timid, the shy, the rigidly decorous Catharine Glover that before mass +on Ash Wednesday she should rush through the streets of Perth, making +her way amidst tumult and confusion, with her hair unbound and her dress +disarranged, to seek the house of that same lover who, she had reason to +believe, had so grossly and indelicately neglected and affronted her as +to pursue a low and licentious amour? Yet so it was; and her eagerness +taking, as if by instinct, the road which was most free, she avoided the +High Street, where the pressure was greatest, and reached the wynd by +the narrow lanes on the northern skirt of the town, through which Henry +Smith had formerly escorted Louise. But even these comparatively lonely +passages were now astir with passengers, so general was the alarm. +Catharine Glover made her way through them, however, while such as +observed her looked on each other and shook their heads in sympathy with +her distress. At length, without any distinct idea of her own purpose, +she stood before her lover’s door and knocked for admittance. + +The silence which succeeded the echoing of her hasty summons increased +the alarm which had induced her to take this desperate measure. + +“Open--open, Henry!” she cried. “Open, if you yet live! Open, if you +would not find Catharine Glover dead upon your threshold!” + +As she cried thus frantically to ears which she was taught to believe +were stopped by death, the lover she invoked opened the door in person, +just in time to prevent her sinking on the ground. The extremity of his +ecstatic joy upon an occasion so unexpected was qualified only by the +wonder which forbade him to believe it real, and by his alarm at the +closed eyes, half opened and blanched lips, total absence of complexion, +and apparently total cessation of breathing. + +Henry had remained at home, in spite of the general alarm, which had +reached his ears for a considerable time, fully determined to put +himself in the way of no brawls that he could avoid; and it was only in +compliance with a summons from the magistrates, which, as a burgher, he +was bound to obey, that, taking his sword and a spare buckler from the +wall, he was about to go forth, for the first time unwillingly, to pay +his service, as his tenure bound him. + +“It is hard,” he said, “to be put forward in all the town feuds, when +the fighting work is so detestable to Catharine. I am sure there are +enough of wenches in Perth that say to their gallants, ‘Go out, do your +devoir bravely, and win your lady’s grace’; and yet they send not for +their lovers, but for me, who cannot do the duties of a man to protect +a minstrel woman, or of a burgess who fights for the honour of his +town, but this peevish Catharine uses me as if I were a brawler and +bordeller!” + +Such were the thoughts which occupied his mind, when, as he opened his +door to issue forth, the person dearest to his thoughts, but whom he +certainly least expected to see, was present to his eyes, and dropped +into his arms. + +His mixture of surprise, joy, and anxiety did not deprive him of the +presence of mind which the occasion demanded. To place Catharine +Glover in safety, and recall her to herself was to be thought of +before rendering obedience to the summons of the magistrates, however +pressingly that had been delivered. He carried his lovely burden, as +light as a feather, yet more precious than the same quantity of purest +gold, into a small bedchamber which had been his mother’s. It was the +most fit for an invalid, as it looked into the garden, and was separated +from the noise of the tumult. + +“Here, Nurse--Nurse Shoolbred--come quick--come for death and life--here +is one wants thy help!” + +Up trotted the old dame. “If it should but prove any one that will keep +thee out of the scuffle,” for she also had been aroused by the noise; +but what was her astonishment when, placed in love and reverence on +the bed of her late mistress, and supported by the athletic arms of her +foster son, she saw the apparently lifeless form of the Fair Maid of +Perth. + +“Catharine Glover!” she said; “and, Holy Mother, a dying woman, as it +would seem!” + +“Not so, old woman,” said her foster son: “the dear heart throbs--the +sweet breath comes and returns! Come thou, that may aid her more meetly +than I--bring water--essences--whatever thy old skill can devise. Heaven +did not place her in my arms to die, but to live for herself and me!” + +With an activity which her age little promised, Nurse Shoolbred +collected the means of restoring animation; for, like many women of the +period, she understood what was to be done in such cases, nay, possessed +a knowledge of treating wounds of an ordinary description, which the +warlike propensities of her foster son kept in pretty constant exercise. + +“Come now,” she said, “son Henry, unfold your arms from about my +patient, though she is worth the pressing, and set thy hands at freedom +to help me with what I want. Nay, I will not insist on your quitting +her hand, if you will beat the palm gently, as the fingers unclose their +clenched grasp.” + +“I beat her slight, beautiful hand!” said Henry; “you were as well bid +me beat a glass cup with a forehammer as tap her fair palm with my horn +hard fingers. But the fingers do unfold, and we will find a better way +than beating”; and he applied his lips to the pretty hand, whose motion +indicated returning sensation. One or two deep sighs succeeded, and +the Fair Maid of Perth opened her eyes, fixed them on her lover, as +he kneeled by the bedside, and again sunk back on the pillow. As she +withdrew not her hand from her lover’s hold or from his grasp, we must +in charity believe that the return to consciousness was not so complete +as to make her aware that he abused the advantage, by pressing it +alternately to his lips and his bosom. At the same time we are compelled +to own that the blood was colouring in her cheek, and that her breathing +was deep and regular, for a minute or two during this relapse. + +The noise at the door began now to grow much louder, and Henry was +called for by all his various names of Smith. Gow, and Hal of the Wynd, +as heathens used to summon their deities by different epithets. At last, +like Portuguese Catholics when exhausted with entreating their saints, +the crowd without had recourse to vituperative exclamations. + +“Out upon you, Henry! You are a disgraced man, man sworn to your burgher +oath, and a traitor to the Fair City, unless you come instantly forth!” + +It would seem that nurse Shoolbred’s applications were now so far +successful that Catharine’s senses were in some measure restored; for, +turning her face more towards that of her lover than her former posture +permitted, she let her right hand fall on his shoulder, leaving her left +still in his possession, and seeming slightly to detain him, while she +whispered: “Do not go, Henry--stay with me; they will kill thee, these +men of blood.” + +It would seem that this gentle invocation, the result of finding the +lover alive whom she expected to have only recognised as a corpse, +though it was spoken so low as scarcely to be intelligible, had more +effect to keep Henry Wynd in his present posture than the repeated +summons of many voices from without had to bring him downstairs. + +“Mass, townsmen,” cried one hardy citizen to his companions, “the saucy +smith but jests with us! Let us into the house, and bring him out by the +lug and the horn.” + +“Take care what you are doing,” said a more cautious assailant. “The man +that presses on Henry Gow’s retirement may go into his house with sound +bones, but will return with ready made work for the surgeon. But here +comes one has good right to do our errand to him, and make the recreant +hear reason on both sides of his head.” + +The person of whom this was spoken was no other than Simon Glover +himself. He had arrived at the fatal spot where the unlucky bonnet +maker’s body was lying, just in time to discover, to his great relief, +that when it was turned with the face upwards by Bailie Craigdallie’s +orders, the features of the poor braggart Proudfute were recognised, +when the crowd expected to behold those of their favorite champion, +Henry Smith. A laugh, or something approaching to one, went among those +who remembered how hard Oliver had struggled to obtain the character +of a fighting man, however foreign to his nature and disposition, and +remarked now that he had met with a mode of death much better suited +to his pretensions than to his temper. But this tendency to ill timed +mirth, which savoured of the rudeness of the times, was at once hushed +by the voice, and cries, and exclamations of a woman who struggled +through the crowd, screaming at the same time, “Oh, my husband--my +husband!” + +Room was made for the sorrower, who was followed by two or three female +friends. Maudie Proudfute had been hitherto only noticed as a good +looking, black haired woman, believed to be “dink” and disdainful to +those whom she thought meaner or poorer than herself, and lady and +empress over her late husband, whom she quickly caused to lower his +crest when she chanced to hear him crowing out of season. But now, +under the influence of powerful passion, she assumed a far more imposing +character. + +“Do you laugh,” she said, “you unworthy burghers of Perth, because one +of your own citizens has poured his blood into the kennel? or do you +laugh because the deadly lot has lighted on my husband? How has he +deserved this? Did he not maintain an honest house by his own industry, +and keep a creditable board, where the sick had welcome and the poor had +relief? Did he not lend to those who wanted, stand by his neighbours as +a friend, keep counsel and do justice like a magistrate?” + +“It is true--it is true,” answered the assembly; “his blood is our blood +as much as if it were Henry Gow’s.” + +“You speak truth, neighbours,” said Bailie Craigdallie; “and this feud +cannot be patched up as the former was: citizen’s blood must not flow +unavenged down our kennels, as if it were ditch water, or we shall soon +see the broad Tay crimsoned with it. But this blow was never meant for +the poor man on whom it has unhappily fallen. Every one knew what Oliver +Proudfute was, how wide he would speak, and how little he would do. He +has Henry Smith’s buff coat, target, and head piece. All the town know +them as well as I do: there is no doubt on’t. He had the trick, as you +know, of trying to imitate the smith in most things. Some one, blind +with rage, or perhaps through liquor, has stricken the innocent bonnet +maker, whom no man either hated or feared, or indeed cared either much +or little about, instead of the stout smith, who has twenty feuds upon +his hands.” + +“What then, is to be done, bailie?” cried the multitude. + +“That, my friends, your magistrates will determine for you, as we shall +instantly meet together when Sir Patrick Charteris cometh here, which +must be anon. Meanwhile, let the chirurgeon Dwining examine that poor +piece of clay, that he may tell us how he came by his fatal death; and +then let the corpse be decently swathed in a clean shroud, as becomes +an honest citizen, and placed before the high altar in the church of +St. John, the patron of the Fair City. Cease all clamour and noise, and +every defensible man of you, as you would wish well to the Fair Town, +keep his weapons in readiness, and be prepared to assemble on the High +Street at the tolling of the common bell from the townhouse, and we will +either revenge the death of our fellow citizen, or else we shall take +such fortune as Heaven will send us. Meanwhile avoid all quarrelling +With the knights and their followers till we know the innocent from the +guilty. But wherefore tarries this knave Smith? He is ready enough +in tumults when his presence is not wanted, and lags he now when his +presence may serve the Fair City? What ails him, doth any one know? Hath +he been upon the frolic last Fastern’s Even?” + +“Rather he is sick or sullen, Master Bailie,” said one of the city’s +mairs, or sergeants; “for though he is within door, as his knaves +report, yet he will neither answer to us nor admit us.” + +“So please your worship, Master Bailie,” said Simon Glover, “I will go +myself to fetch Henry Smith. I have some little difference to make up +with him. And blessed be Our Lady, who hath so ordered it that I find +him alive, as a quarter of an hour since I could never have expected!” + +“Bring the stout smith to the council house,” said the bailie, as a +mounted yeoman pressed through the crowd and whispered in his ear, “Here +is a good fellow who says the Knight of Kinfauns is entering the port.” + +Such was the occasion of Simon Glover presenting himself at the house of +Henry Gow at the period already noticed. + +Unrestrained by the considerations of doubt and hesitation which +influenced others, he repaired to the parlour; and having overheard the +bustling of Dame Shoolbred, he took the privilege of intimacy to ascend +to the bedroom, and, with the slight apology of “I crave your pardon, +good neighbour,” he opened the door and entered the apartment, where a +singular and unexpected sight awaited him. At the sound of his voice, +May Catharine experienced a revival much speedier than Dame Shoolbred’s +restoratives had been able to produce, and the paleness of her +complexion changed into a deep glow of the most lovely red. She pushed +her lover from her with both her hands, which, until this minute, her +want of consciousness, or her affection, awakened by the events of the +morning, had well nigh abandoned to his caresses. Henry Smith, bashful +as we know him, stumbled as he rose up; and none of the party were +without a share of confusion, excepting Dame Shoolbred, who was glad +to make some pretext to turn her back to the others, in order that she +might enjoy a laugh at their expense, which she felt herself utterly +unable to restrain, and in which the glover, whose surprise, though +great, was of short duration, and of a joyful character, sincerely +joined. + +“Now, by good St. John,” he said, “I thought I had seen a sight this +morning that would cure me of laughter, at least till Lent was over; +but this would make me curl my cheek if I were dying. Why, here stands +honest Henry Smith, who was lamented as dead, and toll’d out for from +every steeple in town, alive, merry, and, as it seems from his ruddy +complexion, as like to live as any man in Perth. And here is my precious +daughter, that yesterday would speak of nothing but the wickedness of +the wights that haunt profane sports and protect glee maidens. Ay, +she who set St. Valentine and St. Cupid both at defiance--here she is, +turned a glee maiden herself, for what I can see! Truly, I am glad to +see that you, my good Dame Shoolbred, who give way to no disorder, have +been of this loving party.” + +“You do me wrong, my dearest father,” said Catharine, as if about to +weep. “I came here with far different expectations than you suppose. I +only came because--because--” + +“Because you expected to find a dead lover,” said her father, “and you +have found a living one, who can receive the tokens of your regard, and +return them. Now, were it not a sin, I could find in my heart to thank +Heaven that thou hast been surprised at last into owning thyself a +woman. Simon Glover is not worthy to have an absolute saint for his +daughter. Nay, look not so piteously, nor expect condolence from me! +Only I will try not to look merry, if you will be pleased to stop your +tears, or confess them to be tears of joy.” + +“If I were to die for such a confession,” said poor Catharine, “I could +not tell what to call them. Only believe, dear father, and let Henry +believe, that I would never have come hither; unless--unless--” + +“Unless you had thought that Henry could not come to you,” said her +father. “And now, shake hands in peace and concord, and agree as +Valentines should. Yesterday was Shrovetide, Henry; We will hold that +thou hast confessed thy follies, hast obtained absolution, and art +relieved of all the guilt thou stoodest charged with.” + +“Nay touching that, father Simon,” said the smith, “now that you are +cool enough to hear me, I can swear on the Gospels, and I can call my +nurse, Dame Shoolbred, to witness--” + +“Nay--nay,” said the glover, “but wherefore rake up differences which +should all be forgotten?” + +“Hark ye, Simon!--Simon Glover!” This was now echoed from beneath. + +“True, son Smith,” said the glover, seriously, “we have other work in +hand. You and I must to the council instantly. Catharine shall remain +here with Dame Shoolbred, who will take charge of her till we return; +and then, as the town is in misrule, we two, Harry, will carry her home, +and they will be bold men that cross us.” + +“Nay, my dear father,” said Catharine, with a smile, “now you are taking +Oliver Proudfute’s office. That doughty burgher is Henry’s brother at +arms.” + +Her father’s countenance grew dark. + +“You have spoke a stinging word, daughter; but you know not what has +happened. Kiss him, Catharine, in token of forgiveness.” + +“Not so,” said Catharine; “I have done him too much grace already. When +he has seen the errant damsel safe home, it will be time enough to claim +his reward.” + +“Meantime,” said Henry, “I will claim, as your host, what you will not +allow me on other terms.” + +He folded the fair maiden in his arms, and was permitted to take the +salute which she had refused to bestow. + +As they descended the stair together, the old man laid his hand on the +smith’s shoulder, and said: “Henry, my dearest wishes are fulfilled; +but it is the pleasure of the saints that it should be in an hour of +difficulty and terror.” + +“True,” said the smith; “but thou knowest, father, if our riots be +frequent at Perth, at least they seldom last long.” + +Then, opening a door which led from the house into the smithy, “here, +comrades,” he cried, “Anton, Cuthbert, Dingwell, and Ringen! Let none of +you stir from the place till I return. Be as true as the weapons I have +taught you to forge: a French crown and a Scotch merrymaking for you, if +you obey my command. I leave a mighty treasure in your charge. Watch +the doors well, let little Jannekin scout up and down the wynd, and have +your arms ready if any one approaches the house. Open the doors to no +man till father Glover or I return: it concerns my life and happiness.” + +The strong, swarthy giants to whom he spoke answered: “Death to him who +attempts it!” + +“My Catharine is now as safe,” said he to her father, “as if twenty men +garrisoned a royal castle in her cause. We shall pass most quietly to +the council house by walking through the garden.” + +He led the way through a little orchard accordingly, where the birds, +which had been sheltered and fed during the winter by the good natured +artisan, early in the season as it was, were saluting the precarious +smiles of a February sun with a few faint and interrupted attempts at +melody. + +“Hear these minstrels, father,” said the smith; “I laughed at them this +morning in the bitterness of my heart, because the little wretches sung, +with so much of winter before them. But now, methinks, I could bear a +blythe chorus, for I have my Valentine as they have theirs; and whatever +ill may lie before me for tomorrow, I am today the happiest man in +Perth, city or county, burgh or landward.” + +“Yet I must allay your joy,” said the old glover, “though, Heaven knows, +I share it. Poor Oliver Proudfute, the inoffensive fool that you and I +knew so well, has been found this morning dead in the streets.” + +“Only dead drunk, I trust?” said the smith; “nay, a candle and a dose of +matrimonial advice will bring him to life again.” + +“No, Henry--no. He is slain--slain with a battle axe or some such +weapon.” + +“Impossible!” replied the smith; “he was light footed enough, and would +not for all Perth have trusted to his hands, when he could extricate +himself by his heels.” + +“No choice was allowed him. The blow was dealt in the very back of his +head; he who struck must have been a shorter man than himself, and used +a horseman’s battle axe, or some such weapon, for a Lochaber axe must +have struck the upper part of his head. But there he lies dead, brained, +I may say, by a most frightful wound.” + +“This is inconceivable,” said Henry Wynd. “He was in my house at +midnight, in a morricer’s habit; seemed to have been drinking, though +not to excess. He told me a tale of having been beset by revellers, +and being in danger; but, alas! you know the man--I deemed it was a +swaggering fit, as he sometimes took when he was in liquor; and, may the +Merciful Virgin forgive me! I let him go without company, in which I did +him inhuman wrong. Holy St. John be my witness! I would have gone with +any helpless creature; and far more with him, with whom I have so often +sat at the same board and drunken of the same cup. Who, of the race +of man, could have thought of harming a creature so simple and so +unoffending, excepting by his idle vaunts?” + +“Henry, he wore thy head piece, thy buff coat; thy target. How came he +by these?” + +“Why, he demanded the use of them for the night, and I was ill at ease, +and well pleased to be rid of his company, having kept no holiday, and +being determined to keep none, in respect of our misunderstanding.” + +“It is the opinion of Bailie Craigdallie and all our sagest counsellors +that the blow was intended for yourself, and that it becomes you to +prosecute the due vengeance of our fellow citizen, who received the +death which was meant for you.” + +The smith was for some time silent. They had now left the garden, and +were walking in a lonely lane, by which they meant to approach the +council house of the burgh without being exposed to observation or idle +inquiry. + +“You are silent, my son, yet we two have much to speak of,” said Simon +Glover. “Bethink thee that this widowed woman, Maudlin, if she should +see cause to bring a charge against any one for the wrong done to her +and her orphan children, must support it by a champion, according to +law and custom; for, be the murderer who he may, we know enough of these +followers of the nobles to be assured that the party suspected will +appeal to the combat, in derision, perhaps, of we whom they will call +the cowardly burghers. While we are men with blood in our veins, this +must not be, Henry Wynd.” + +“I see where you would draw me, father,” answered Henry, dejectedly, +“and St. John knows I have heard a summons to battle as willingly as war +horse ever heard the trumpet. But bethink you, father, how I have lost +Catharine’s favour repeatedly, and have been driven well nigh to despair +of ever regaining it, for being, if I may say so, even too ready a man +of my hands. And here are all our quarrels made up, and the hopes that +seemed this morning removed beyond earthly prospect have become +nearer and brighter than ever; and must I with the dear one’s kiss of +forgiveness on my lips, engage in a new scene of violence, which you are +well aware will give her the deepest offence?” + +“It is hard for me to advise you, Henry,” said Simon; “but this I must +ask you: Have you, or have you not, reason to think that this poor +unfortunate Oliver has been mistaken for you?” + +“I fear it too much,” said Henry. “He was thought something like me, and +the poor fool had studied to ape my gestures and manner of walking, +nay the very airs which I have the trick of whistling, that he might +increase a resemblance which has cost him dear. I have ill willers +enough, both in burgh and landward, to owe me a shrewd turn; and he, I +think, could have none such.” + +“Well, Henry, I cannot say but my daughter will be offended. She has +been much with Father Clement, and has received notions about peace and +forgiveness which methinks suit ill with a country where the laws cannot +protect us, unless we have spirit to protect ourselves. If you determine +for the combat, I will do my best to persuade her to look on the matter +as the other good womanhood in the burgh will do; and if you resolve to +let the matter rest--the man who has lost his life for yours remaining +unavenged, the widow and the orphans without any reparation for the loss +of a husband and father--I will then do you the justice to think that I, +at least, ought not to think the worse of you for your patience, since +it was adopted for love of my child. But, Henry, we must in that case +remove ourselves from bonny St. Johnston, for here we will be but a +disgraced family.” + +Henry groaned deeply, and was silent for an instant, then replied: “I +would rather be dead than dishonoured, though I should never see her +again! Had it been yester evening, I would have met the best blade among +these men at arms as blythely as ever I danced at a maypole. But today, +when she had first as good as said, ‘Henry Smith, I love thee!’ Father +Glover; it is very hard. Yet it is all my own fault. This poor unhappy +Oliver! I ought to have allowed him the shelter of my roof, when he +prayed me in his agony of fear; or; had I gone with him, I should then +have prevented or shared his fate. But I taunted him, ridiculed him, +loaded him with maledictions, though the saints know they were uttered +in idle peevishness of impatience. I drove him out from my doors, whom I +knew so helpless, to take the fate which was perhaps intended for me. +I must avenge him, or be dishonoured for ever. See, father, I have been +called a man hard as the steel I work in. Does burnished steel ever drop +tears like these? Shame on me that I should shed them!” + +“It is no shame, my dearest son,” said Simon; “thou art as kind as +brave, and I have always known it. There is yet a chance for us. No one +may be discovered to whom suspicion attaches, and where none such is +found, the combat cannot take place. It is a hard thing to wish that the +innocent blood may not be avenged. But if the perpetrator of this foul +murder be hidden for the present, thou wilt be saved from the task +of seeking that vengeance which Heaven doubtless will take at its own +proper time.” + +As they spoke thus, they arrived at the point of the High Street where +the council house was situated. As they reached the door, and made +their way through the multitude who thronged the street, they found the +avenues guarded by a select party of armed burghers, and about fifty +spears belonging to the Knight of Kinfauns, who, with his allies +the Grays, Blairs, Moncrieffs, and others, had brought to Perth a +considerable body of horse, of which these were a part. So soon as the +glover and smith presented themselves, they were admitted to the chamber +in which the magistrates were assembled. + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + A woman wails for justice at the gate, + A widow’d woman, wan and desolate. + + Bertha. + + +The council room of Perth presented a singular spectacle. In a gloomy +apartment, ill and inconveniently lighted by two windows of different +form and of unequal size, were assembled, around a large oaken table, +a group of men, of whom those who occupied the higher seats were +merchants, that is, guild brethren, or shopkeepers, arrayed in decent +dresses becoming their station, but most of them bearing, like, the +Regent York, “signs of war around their aged necks”--gorgets, namely, +and baldricks, which sustained their weapons. The lower places around +the table were occupied by mechanics and artisans, the presidents, or +deacons, as they were termed, of the working classes, in their ordinary +clothes, somewhat better arranged than usual. These, too, wore pieces +of armour of various descriptions. Some had the blackjack, or doublets +covered with small plates of iron of a lozenge shape, which, secured +through the upper angle, hung in rows above each [other], and which, +swaying with the motion of the wearer’s person, formed a secure defence +to the body. Others had buff coats, which, as already mentioned, could +resist the blow of a sword, and even a lance’s point, unless propelled +with great force. At the bottom of the table, surrounded as it was +with this varied assembly, sat Sir Louis Lundin; no military man, but +a priest and parson of St. John’s, arrayed in his canonical dress, and +having his pen and ink before him. He was town clerk of the burgh, +and, like all the priests of the period (who were called from that +circumstance the Pope’s knights), received the honourable title of +Dominus, contracted into Dom, or Dan, or translated into Sir, the title +of reverence due to the secular chivalry. + +On an elevated seat at the head of the council board was placed Sir +Patrick Charteris, in complete armour brightly burnished--a singular +contrast to the motley mixture of warlike and peaceful attire exhibited +by the burghers, who were only called to arms occasionally. The bearing +of the provost, while it completely admitted the intimate connexion +which mutual interests had created betwixt himself, the burgh, and the +magistracy, was at the same time calculated to assert the superiority +which, in virtue of gentle blood and chivalrous rank, the opinions of +the age assigned to him over the members of the assembly in which he +presided. Two squires stood behind him, one of them holding the knight’s +pennon, and another his shield, bearing his armorial distinctions, being +a hand holding a dagger, or short sword, with the proud motto, “This is +my charter.” A handsome page displayed the long sword of his master, and +another bore his lance; all which chivalrous emblems and appurtenances +were the more scrupulously exhibited, that the dignitary to whom they +belonged was engaged in discharging the office of a burgh magistrate. +In his own person the Knight of Kinfauns appeared to affect something +of state and stiffness which did not naturally pertain to his frank and +jovial character. + +“So you are come at length, Henry Smith and Simon Glover,” said the +provost. “Know that you have kept us waiting for your attendance. Should +it so chance again while we occupy this place, we will lay such a +fine on you as you will have small pleasure in paying. Enough--make +no excuses. They are not asked now, and another time they will not +be admitted. Know, sirs, that our reverend clerk hath taken down in +writing, and at full length, what I will tell you in brief, that you may +see what is to be required of you, Henry Smith, in particular. Our +late fellow citizen, Oliver Proudfute, hath been found dead in the High +Street, close by the entrance into the wynd. It seemeth he was slain by +a heavy blow with a short axe, dealt from behind and at unawares; +and the act by which he fell can only be termed a deed of foul and +forethought murder. So much for the crime. The criminal can only be +indicated by circumstances. It is recorded in the protocol of the +Reverend Sir Louis Lundin, that divers well reported witnesses saw our +deceased citizen, Oliver Proudfute, till a late period accompanying the +entry of the morrice dancers, of whom he was one, as far as the house of +Simon Glover, in Curfew Street, where they again played their pageant. +It is also manifested that at this place he separated from the rest +of the band, after some discourse with Simon Glover, and made an +appointment to meet with the others of his company at the sign of the +Griffin, there to conclude the holiday. Now, Simon, I demand of you +whether this be truly stated, so far as you know? and further, what was +the purport of the defunct Oliver Proudfute’s discourse with you?” + +“My Lord Provost and very worshipful Sir Patrick,” answered Simon +Glover, “you and this honourable council shall know that, touching +certain reports which had been made of the conduct of Henry Smith, some +quarrel had arisen between myself and another of my family and the said +Smith here present. Now, this our poor fellow citizen, Oliver Proudfute, +having been active in spreading these reports, as indeed his element lay +in such gossipred, some words passed betwixt him and me on the subject; +and, as I think, he left me with the purpose of visiting Henry Smith, +for he broke off from the morrice dancers, promising, as it seems, to +meet them, as your honour has said, at the sign of the Griffin, in order +to conclude the evening. But what he actually did, I know not, as I +never again saw him in life.” + +“It is enough,” said Sir Patrick, “and agrees with all that we have +heard. Now, worthy sirs, we next find our poor fellow citizen environed +by a set of revellers and maskers who had assembled in the High Street, +by whom he was shamefully ill treated, being compelled to kneel down +in the street, and there to quaff huge quantities of liquor against +his inclination, until at length he escaped from them by flight. +This violence was accomplished with drawn swords, loud shouts, and +imprecations, so as to attract the attention of several persons, who, +alarmed by the tumult, looked out from their windows, as well as of one +or two passengers, who, keeping aloof from the light of the torches, +lest they also had been maltreated, beheld the usage which our fellow +citizen received in the High Street of the burgh. And although these +revellers were disguised, and used vizards, yet their disguises were +well known, being a set of quaint masking habits prepared some weeks +ago by command of Sir John Ramorny, Master of the Horse to his Royal +Highness the Duke of Rothsay, Prince Royal of Scotland.” + +A low groan went through the assembly. + +“Yes, so it is, brave burghers,” continued Sir Patrick; “our inquiries +have led us into conclusions both melancholy and terrible. But as no one +can regret the point at which they seem likely to arrive more than I do, +so no man living can dread its consequences less. It is even so, various +artisans employed upon the articles have described the dresses prepared +for Sir John Ramorny’s mask as being exactly similar to those of the +men by whom Oliver Proudfute was observed to be maltreated. And one +mechanic, being Wingfield the feather dresser, who saw the revellers +when they had our fellow citizen within their hands, remarked that they +wore the cinctures and coronals of painted feathers which he himself had +made by the order of the Prince’s master of horse. + +“After the moment of his escape from these revellers, we lose all trace +of Oliver’ but we can prove that the maskers went to Sir John Ramorny’s, +where they were admitted, after some show of delay. It is rumoured that +thou, Henry Smith, sawest our unhappy fellow citizen after he had been +in the hands of these revellers. What is the truth of the matter?” + +“He came to my house in the wynd,” said Henry, “about half an hour +before midnight; and I admitted him, something unwillingly, as he had +been keeping carnival while I remained at home; and ‘There is ill talk,’ +says the proverb, ‘betwixt a full man and a fasting.’” + +“And in which plight seemed he when thou didst admit him?” said the +provost. + +“He seemed,” answered the smith, “out of breath, and talked repeatedly +of having been endangered by revellers. I paid but small regard, for he +was ever a timorous, chicken spirited, though well meaning, man, and +I held that he was speaking more from fancy than reality. But I shall +always account it for foul offence in myself that I did not give him my +company, which he requested; and if I live, I will found masses for his +soul, in expiation of my guilt.” + +“Did he describe those from whom he received the injury?” said the +provost. + +“Revellers in masking habits,” replied Henry. + +“And did he intimate his fear of having to do with them on his return?” + again demanded Sir Patrick. + +“He alluded particularly to his being waylaid, which I treated as +visionary, having been able to see no one in the lane.” + +“Had he then no help from thee of any kind whatsoever?” said the +provost. + +“Yes, worshipful,” replied the smith; “he exchanged his morrice dress +for my head piece, buff coat, and target, which I hear were found upon +his body; and I have at home his morrice cap and bells, with the jerkin +and other things pertaining. He was to return my garb of fence, and get +back his own masking suit this day, had the saints so permitted.” + +“You saw him not then afterwards?” + +“Never, my lord.” + +“One word more,” said the provost. “Have you any reason to think that +the blow which slew Oliver Proudfute was meant for another man?” + +“I have,” answered the smith; “but it is doubtful, and may be dangerous +to add such a conjecture, which is besides only a supposition.” + +“Speak it out, on your burgher faith and oath. For whom, think you, was +the blow meant?” + +“If I must speak,” replied Henry, “I believe Oliver Proudfute received +the fate which was designed for myself; the rather that, in his folly, +Oliver spoke of trying to assume my manner of walking, as well as my +dress.” + +“Have you feud with any one, that you form such an idea?” said Sir +Patrick Charteris. + +“To my shame and sin be it spoken, I have feud with Highland and +Lowland, English and Scot, Perth and Angus. I do not believe poor +Oliver had feud with a new hatched chicken. Alas! he was the more fully +prepared for a sudden call!” + +“Hark ye, smith,” said the provost, “answer me distinctly: Is there +cause of feud between the household of Sir John Ramorny and yourself?” + +“To a certainty, my lord, there is. It is now generally said that Black +Quentin, who went over Tay to Fife some days since, was the owner of the +hand which was found in Couvrefew Street upon the eve of St. Valentine. +It was I who struck off that hand with a blow of my broadsword. As this +Black Quentin was a chamberlain of Sir John, and much trusted, it is +like there must be feud between me and his master’s dependants.” + +“It bears a likely front, smith,” said Sir Patrick Charteris. “And now, +good brothers and wise magistrates, there are two suppositions, each of +which leads to the same conclusion. The maskers who seized our fellow +citizen, and misused him in a manner of which his body retains some +slight marks, may have met with their former prisoner as he returned +homewards, and finished their ill usage by taking his life. He himself +expressed to Henry Gow fears that this would be the case. If this be +really true, one or more of Sir John Ramorny’s attendants must have +been the assassins. But I think it more likely that one or two of the +revellers may have remained on the field, or returned to it, having +changed perhaps their disguise, and that to those men (for Oliver +Proudfute, in his own personal appearance, would only have been a +subject of sport) his apparition in the dress, and assuming, as he +proposed to do, the manner, of Henry Smith, was matter of deep hatred; +and that, seeing him alone, they had taken, as they thought, a certain +and safe mode to rid themselves of an enemy so dangerous as all men know +Henry Wynd is accounted by those that are his unfriends. The same train +of reasoning, again, rests the guilt with the household of Sir John +Ramorny. How think you, sirs? Are we not free to charge the crime upon +them?” + +The magistrates whispered together for several minutes, and then replied +by the voice of Bailie Craigdallie: “Noble knight, and our worthy +provost, we agree entirely in what your wisdom has spoken concerning +this dark and bloody matter; nor do we doubt your sagacity in tracing to +the fellowship and the company of John Ramorny of that ilk the villainy +which hath been done to our deceased fellow citizen, whether in his own +character and capacity or as mistaking him for our brave townsman, Henry +of the Wynd. But Sir John, in his own behalf, and as the Prince’s master +of the horse, maintains an extensive household; and as, of course, the +charge will be rebutted by a denial, we would ask how we shall proceed +in that case. It is true, could we find law for firing the lodging, and +putting all within it to the sword; the old proverb of ‘Short rede, +good rede,’ might here apply; for a fouler household of defiers of God, +destroyers of men, and debauchers of women are nowhere sheltered than +are in Ramorny’s band. But I doubt that this summary mode of execution +would scarce be borne out by the laws; and no tittle of evidence which +I have heard will tend to fix the crime on any single individual or +individuals.” + +Before the provost could reply, the town clerk arose, and, stroking +his venerable beard, craved permission to speak, which was instantly +granted. + +“Brethren,” he said, “as well in our fathers’ time as ours; hath God, on +being rightly appealed to, condescended to make manifest the crimes of +the guilty and the innocence of those who may have been rashly accused. +Let us demand from our sovereign lord, King Robert, who, when the wicked +do not interfere to pervert his good intentions, is as just and clement +a prince as our annals can show in their long line, in the name of the +Fair City, and of all the commons in Scotland, that he give us, after +the fashion of our ancestors, the means of appealing to Heaven for light +upon this dark murder, we will demand the proof by ‘bier right,’ often +granted in the days of our sovereign’s ancestors, approved of by bulls +and decretals, and administered by the great Emperor Charlemagne in +France, by King Arthur in Britain, and by Gregory the Great, and the +mighty Achaius, in this our land of Scotland.” + +“I have heard of the bier right, Sir Louis,” quoth the provost, “and I +know we have it in our charters of the Fair City; but I am something +ill learned in the ancient laws, and would pray you to inform us more +distinctly of its nature.” + +“We will demand of the King,” said Sir Louis Lundin, “my advice being +taken, that the body of our murdered fellow citizen be transported into +the High Church of St. John, and suitable masses said for the benefit +of his soul and for the discovery of his foul murder. Meantime, we shall +obtain an order that Sir John Ramorny give up a list of such of his +household as were in Perth in the course of the night between Fastern’s +Even and this Ash Wednesday, and become bound to present them on a +certain day and hour, to be early named, in the High Church of St. John, +there one by one to pass before the bier of our murdered fellow citizen, +and in the form prescribed to call upon God and His saints to bear +witness that he is innocent of the acting, art or part, of the murder. +And credit me, as has been indeed proved by numerous instances, that, if +the murderer shall endeavour to shroud himself by making such an appeal, +the antipathy which subsists between the dead body and the hand which +dealt the fatal blow that divorced it from the soul will awaken some +imperfect life, under the influence of which the veins of the dead man +will pour forth at the fatal wounds the blood which has been so long +stagnant in the veins. Or, to speak more certainly, it is the pleasure +of Heaven, by some hidden agency which we cannot comprehend, to leave +open this mode of discovering the wickedness of him who has defaced the +image of his Creator.” + +“I have heard this law talked of,” said Sir Patrick, “and it was +enforced in the Bruce’s time. This surely is no unfit period to seek, by +such a mystic mode of inquiry, the truth to which no ordinary means can +give us access, seeing that a general accusation of Sir John’s household +would full surely be met by a general denial. Yet I must crave farther +of Sir Louis, our reverend town clerk, how we shall prevent the guilty +person from escaping in the interim?” + +“The burghers will maintain a strict watch upon the wall, drawbridges +shall be raised and portcullises lowered, from sunset to sunrise, and +strong patrols maintained through the night. This guard the burghers +will willingly maintain, to secure against the escape of the murderer of +their townsman.” + +The rest of the counsellors acquiesced, by word, sign, and look, in this +proposal. + +“Again,” said the provost, “what if any one of the suspected household +refuse to submit to the ordeal of bier right?” + +“He may appeal to that of combat,” said the reverend city scribe, “with +an opponent of equal rank; because the accused person must have his +choice, in the appeal to the judgment of God, by what ordeal he will +be tried. But if he refuses both, he must be held as guilty, and so +punished.” + +The sages of the council unanimously agreed with the opinion of their +provost and town clerk, and resolved, in all formality, to petition +the King, as a matter of right, that the murder of their fellow citizen +should be inquired into according to this ancient form, which was held +to manifest the truth, and received as matter of evidence in case of +murder so late as towards the end of the 17th century. But before the +meeting dissolved, Bailie Craigdallie thought it meet to inquire who +was to be the champion of Maudie, or Magdalen, Proudfute and her two +children. + +“There need be little inquiry about that,” said Sir Patrick Charteris; +“we are men, and wear swords, which should be broken over the head +of any one amongst us who will not draw it in behalf of the widow and +orphans of our murdered fellow citizen, and in brave revenge of his +death. If Sir John Ramorny shall personally resent the inquiry, Patrick +Charteris of Kinfauns will do battle with him to the outrance, whilst +horse and man may stand, or spear and blade hold together. But in case +the challenger be of yeomanly degree, well wot I that Magdalen Proudfute +may choose her own champion among the bravest burghers of Perth, and +shame and dishonour were it to the Fair City for ever could she light +upon one who were traitor and coward enough to say her nay! Bring her +hither, that she may make her election.” + +Henry Smith heard this with a melancholy anticipation that the poor +woman’s choice would light upon him, and that his recent reconciliation +with his mistress would be again dissolved, by his being engaged in a +fresh quarrel, from which there lay no honourable means of escape, and +which, in any other circumstances, he would have welcomed as a glorious +opportunity of distinguishing himself, both in sight of the court and +of the city. He was aware that, under the tuition of Father Clement, +Catharine viewed the ordeal of battle rather as an insult to religion +than an appeal to the Deity, and did not consider it as reasonable that +superior strength of arm or skill of weapon should be resorted to as the +proof of moral guilt or innocence. He had, therefore, much to fear from +her peculiar opinions in this particular, refined as they were beyond +those of the age she lived in. + +While he thus suffered under these contending feelings, Magdalen, +the widow of the slaughtered man, entered the court, wrapt in a deep +mourning veil, and followed and supported by five or six women of good +(that is, of respectability) dressed in the same melancholy attire. One +of her attendants held an infant in her arms, the last pledge of poor +Oliver’s nuptial affections. Another led a little tottering creature of +two years, or thereabouts, which looked with wonder and fear, sometimes +on the black dress in which they had muffled him, and sometimes on the +scene around him. + +The assembly rose to receive the melancholy group, and saluted them with +an expression of the deepest sympathy, which Magdalen, though the mate +of poor Oliver, returned with an air of dignity, which she borrowed, +perhaps, from the extremity of her distress. Sir Patrick Charteris then +stepped forward, and with the courtesy of a knight to a female, and of a +protector to an oppressed and injured widow, took the poor woman’s hand, +and explained to her briefly by what course the city had resolved to +follow out the vengeance due for her husband’s slaughter. + +Having, with a softness and gentleness which did not belong to his +general manner, ascertained that the unfortunate woman perfectly +understood what was meant, he said aloud to the assembly: “Good citizens +of Perth, and freeborn men of guild and craft, attend to what is +about to pass, for it concerns your rights and privileges. Here stands +Magdalen Proudfute, desirous to follow forth the revenge due for the +death of her husband, foully murdered, as she sayeth, by Sir John +Ramorny, Knight, of that Ilk, and which she offers to prove, by the +evidence of bier right, or by the body of a man. Therefore, I, Patrick +Charteris, being a belted knight and freeborn gentleman, offer myself to +do battle in her just quarrel, whilst man and horse may endure, if any +one of my degree shall lift my glove. How say you, Magdalen Proudfute, +will you accept me for your champion?” + +The widow answered with difficulty: “I can desire none nobler.” + +Sir Patrick then took her right hand in his, and, kissing her forehead, +for such was the ceremony, said solemnly: “So may God and St. John +prosper me at my need, as I will do my devoir as your champion, +knightly, truly, and manfully. Go now, Magdalen, and choose at your will +among the burgesses of the Fair City, present or absent, any one upon +whom you desire to rest your challenge, if he against whom you bring +plaint shall prove to be beneath my degree.” + +All eyes were turned to Henry Smith, whom the general voice had already +pointed out as in every respect the fittest to act as champion on the +occasion. But the widow waited not for the general prompting of their +looks. As soon as Sir Patrick had spoken, she crossed the floor to the +place where, near the bottom of the table, the armourer stood among the +men of his degree, and took him by the hand. + +“Henry Gow, or Smith,” she said, “good burgher and draftsman, my--my--” + +“Husband,” she would have said, but the word would not come forth: she +was obliged to change the expression. + +“He who is gone, loved and prized you over all men; therefore meet it is +that thou shouldst follow out the quarrel of his widow and orphans.” + +If there had been a possibility, which in that age there was not, of +Henry’s rejecting or escaping from a trust for which all men seemed to +destine him, every wish and idea of retreat was cut off when the widow +began to address him; and a command from Heaven could hardly have made a +stronger impression than did the appeal of the unfortunate Magdalen. Her +allusion to his intimacy with the deceased moved him to the soul. During +Oliver’s life, doubtless, there had been a strain of absurdity in his +excessive predilection for Henry, which, considering how very different +they were in character, had in it something ludicrous. But all this +was now forgotten, and Henry, giving way to his natural ardour, only +remembered that Oliver had been his friend and intimate--a man who had +loved and honoured him as much as he was capable of entertaining such +sentiments for any one, and, above all, that there was much reason to +suspect that the deceased had fallen victim to a blow meant for Henry +himself. + +It was, therefore, with an alacrity which, the minute before, he could +scarce have commanded, and which seemed to express a stern pleasure, +that, having pressed his lips to the cold brow of the unhappy Magdalen, +the armourer replied: + +“I, Henry the Smith, dwelling in the Wynd of Perth, good man and true, +and freely born, accept the office of champion to this widow Magdalen +and these orphans, and will do battle in their quarrel to the death, +with any man whomsoever of my own degree, and that so long as I shall +draw breath. So help me at my need God and good St. John!” + +There arose from the audience a half suppressed cry, expressing the +interest which the persons present took in the prosecution of the +quarrel, and their confidence in the issue. + +Sir Patrick Charteris then took measures for repairing to the King’s +presence, and demanding leave to proceed with inquiry into the murder +of Oliver Proudfute, according to the custom of bier right, and, if +necessary, by combat. + +He performed this duty after the town council had dissolved, in a +private interview between himself and the King, who heard of this new +trouble with much vexation, and appointed next morning, after mass, +for Sir Patrick and the parties interested to attend his pleasure in +council. In the mean time, a royal pursuivant was despatched to the +Constable’s lodgings, to call over the roll of Sir John Ramorny’s +attendants, and charge him, with his whole retinue, under high +penalties, to abide within Perth until the King’s pleasure should be +farther known. + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + In God’s name, see the lists and all things fit; + There let them end it--God defend the right! + + Henry IV. Part II. + + +In the same council room of the conventual palace of the Dominicans, +King Robert was seated with his brother Albany, whose affected austerity +of virtue, and real art and dissimulation, maintained so high an +influence over the feeble minded monarch. It was indeed natural that one +who seldom saw things according to their real forms and outlines should +view them according to the light in which they were presented to him by +a bold, astucious man, possessing the claim of such near relationship. + +Ever anxious on account of his misguided and unfortunate son, the King +was now endeavouring to make Albany coincide in opinion with him in +exculpating Rothsay from any part in the death of the bonnet maker, the +precognition concerning which had been left by Sir Patrick Charteris for +his Majesty’s consideration. + +“This is an unhappy matter, brother Robin,” he said--“a most unhappy +occurrence, and goes nigh to put strife and quarrel betwixt the nobility +and the commons here, as they have been at war together in so many +distant lands. I see but one cause of comfort in the matter, and that +is, that Sir John Ramorny having received his dismissal from the Duke of +Rothsay’s family, it cannot be said that he or any of his people who may +have done this bloody deed--if it has truly been done by them--have been +encouraged or hounded out upon such an errand by my poor boy. I am sure, +brother, you and I can bear witness how readily, upon my entreaties, he +agreed to dismiss Ramorny from his service, on account of that brawl in +Curfew Street.” + +“I remember his doing so,” said Albany; “and well do I hope that the +connexion betwixt the Prince and Ramorny has not been renewed since he +seemed to comply with your Grace’s wishes.” + +“Seemed to comply! The connexion renewed!” said the King. “What mean you +by these expressions, brother? Surely, when David promised to me that, +if that unhappy matter of Curfew Street were but smothered up and +concealed, he would part with Ramorny, as he was a counsellor thought +capable of involving him in similar fooleries, and would acquiesce +in our inflicting on him either exile or such punishment as it should +please us to impose--surely you cannot doubt that he was sincere in his +professions, and would keep his word? Remember you not that, when you +advised that a heavy fine should be levied upon his estate in Fife in +lieu of banishment, the Prince himself seemed to say that exile would be +better for Ramorny, and even for himself?” + +“I remember it well, my royal brother. Nor, truly, could I have +suspected Ramorny of having so much influence over the Prince, after +having been accessory to placing him in a situation so perilous, had +it not been for my royal kinsman’s own confession, alluded to by your +Grace, that, if suffered to remain at court, he might still continue to +influence his conduct. I then regretted I had advised a fine in place +of exile. But that time is passed, and now new mischief has occurred, +fraught with much peril to your Majesty, as well as to your royal heir, +and to the whole kingdom.” + +“What mean you, Robin?” said the weak minded King. “By the tomb of our +parents! by the soul of Bruce, our immortal ancestor! I entreat thee, my +dearest brother, to take compassion on me. Tell me what evil threatens +my son, or my kingdom?” + +The features of the King, trembling with anxiety, and his eyes brimful +of tears, were bent upon his brother, who seemed to assume time for +consideration ere he replied. + +“My lord, the danger lies here. Your Grace believed that the Prince had +no accession to this second aggression upon the citizens of Perth--the +slaughter of this bonnet making fellow, about whose death they clamour, +as a set of gulls about their comrade, when one of the noisy brood is +struck down by a boor’s shaft.” + +“Their lives,” said the King, “are dear to themselves and their friends, +Robin.” + +“Truly, ay, my liege; and they make them dear to us too, ere we can +settle with the knaves for the least blood wit. But, as I said, your +Majesty thinks the Prince had no share in this last slaughter; I will +not attempt to shake your belief in that delicate point, but will +endeavour to believe along with you. What you think is rule for me, +Robert of Albany will never think otherwise than Robert of broad +Scotland.” + +“Thank you, thank you,” said the King, taking his brother’s hand. “I +knew I might rely that your affection would do justice to poor heedless +Rothsay, who exposes himself to so much misconstruction that he scarcely +deserves the sentiments you feel for him.” + +Albany had such an immovable constancy of purpose, that he was able to +return the fraternal pressure of the King’s hand, while tearing up by +the very roots the hopes of the indulgent, fond old man. + +“But, alas!” the Duke continued, with a sigh, “this burly, intractable +Knight of Kinfauns, and his brawling herd of burghers, will not view the +matter as we do. They have the boldness to say that this dead fellow had +been misused by Rothsay and his fellows, who were in the street in mask +and revel, stopping men and women, compelling them to dance, or to drink +huge quantities of wine, with other follies needless to recount; and +they say that the whole party repaired in Sir John Ramorny’s, and broke +their way into the house in order to conclude their revel there, thus +affording good reason to judge that the dismissal of Sir John from the +Prince’s service was but a feigned stratagem to deceive the public. And +hence they urge that, if ill were done that night by Sir John Ramorny +or his followers, much it is to be thought that the Duke of Rothsay must +have at least been privy to, if he did not authorise, it.” + +“Albany, this is dreadful!” said the King. “Would they make a murderer +of my boy? would they pretend my David would soil his hands in Scottish +blood without having either provocation or purpose? No--no, they will +not invent calumnies so broad as these, for they are flagrant and +incredible.” + +“Pardon, my liege,” answered the Duke of Albany; “they say the cause +of quarrel which occasioned the riot in Curfew Street, and, its +consequences, were more proper to the Prince than to Sir John, since +none suspects, far less believes, that that hopeful enterprise was +conducted for the gratification of the knight of Ramorny.” + +“Thou drivest me mad, Robin!” said the King. + +“I am dumb,” answered his brother; “I did but speak my poor mind +according to your royal order.” + +“Thou meanest well, I know,” said the King; “but, instead of tearing me +to pieces with the display of inevitable calamities, were it not kinder, +Robin, to point me out some mode to escape from them?” + +“True, my liege; but as the only road of extrication is rough and +difficult, it is necessary your Grace should be first possessed with +the absolute necessity of using it, ere you hear it even described. The +chirurgeon must first convince his patient of the incurable condition of +a shattered member, ere he venture to name amputation, though it be the +only remedy.” + +The King at these words was roused to a degree of alarm and indignation +greater than his brother had deemed he could be awakened to. + +“Shattered and mortified member, my Lord of Albany! amputation the only +remedy! These are unintelligible words, my lord. If thou appliest them +to our son Rothsay, thou must make them good to the letter, else mayst +thou have bitter cause to rue the consequence.” + +“You construe me too literally, my royal liege,” said Albany. “I spoke +not of the Prince in such unbeseeming terms, for I call Heaven to +witness that he is dearer to me as the son of a well beloved brother +than had he been son of my own. But I spoke in regard to separating him +from the follies and vanities of life, which holy men say are like to +mortified members, and ought, like them, to be cut off and thrown from +us, as things which interrupt our progress in better things.” + +“I understand--thou wouldst have this Ramorny, who hath been thought the +instrument of my son’s follies, exiled from court,” said the relieved +monarch, “until these unhappy scandals are forgotten, and our subjects +are disposed to look upon our son with different and more confiding +eyes.” + +“That were good counsel, my liege; but mine went a little--a very +little--farther. I would have the Prince himself removed for some brief +period from court.” + +“How, Albany! part with my child, my firstborn, the light of my eyes, +and--wilful as he is--the darling of my heart! Oh, Robin! I cannot, and +I will not.” + +“Nay, I did but suggest, my lord; I am sensible of the wound such a +proceeding must inflict on a parent’s heart, for am I not myself a +father?” And he hung his head, as if in hopeless despondency. + +“I could not survive it, Albany. When I think that even our own +influence over him, which, sometimes forgotten in our absence, is ever +effectual whilst he is with us, is by your plan to be entirely removed, +what perils might he not rush upon? I could not sleep in his absence--I +should hear his death groan in every breeze; and you, Albany, though you +conceal it better, would be nearly as anxious.” + +Thus spoke the facile monarch, willing to conciliate his brother and +cheat himself, by taking it for granted that an affection, of which +there were no traces, subsisted betwixt the uncle and nephew. + +“Your paternal apprehensions are too easily alarmed, my lord,” said +Albany. “I do not propose to leave the disposal of the Prince’s motions +to his own wild pleasure. I understand that the Prince is to be placed +for a short time under some becoming restraint--that he should +be subjected to the charge of some grave counsellor, who must be +responsible both for his conduct and his safety, as a tutor for his +pupil.” + +“How! a tutor, and at Rothsay’s age!” exclaimed the’ King; “he is two +years beyond the space to which our laws limit the term of nonage.” + +“The wiser Romans,” said Albany, “extended it for four years after the +period we assign; and, in common sense, the right of control ought to +last till it be no longer necessary, and so the time ought to vary with +the disposition. Here is young Lindsay, the Earl of Crawford, who they +say gives patronage to Ramorny on this appeal. He is a lad of fifteen, +with the deep passions and fixed purpose of a man of thirty; while my +royal nephew, with much more amiable and noble qualities both of head +and heart, sometimes shows, at twenty-three years of age, the wanton +humours of a boy, towards whom restraint may be kindness. And do not +be discouraged that it is so, my liege, or angry with your brother for +telling the truth; since the best fruits are those that are slowest in +ripening, and the best horses such as give most trouble to the grooms +who train them for the field or lists.” + +The Duke stopped, and, after suffering King Robert to indulge for two +or three minutes in a reverie which he did not attempt to interrupt, he +added, in a more lively tone: “But, cheer up, my noble liege; perhaps +the feud may be made up without farther fighting or difficulty. The +widow is poor, for her husband, though he was much employed, had idle +and costly habits. The matter may be therefore redeemed for money, and +the amount of an assythment may be recovered out of Ramorny’s estate.” + +“Nay, that we will ourselves discharge,” said King Robert, eagerly +catching at the hope of a pacific termination of this unpleasing debate. +“Ramorny’s prospects will be destroyed by his being sent from court +and deprived of his charge in Rothsay’s household, and it would be +ungenerous to load a falling man. But here comes our secretary, the +prior, to tell us the hour of council approaches. Good morrow, my worthy +father.” + +“Benedicite, my royal liege,” answered the abbot. + +“Now, good father,” continued the King, “without waiting for Rothsay, +whose accession to our counsels we will ourselves guarantee, proceed we +to the business of our kingdom. What advices have you from the Douglas?” + +“He has arrived at his castle of Tantallon, my liege, and has sent a +post to say, that, though the Earl of March remains in sullen seclusion +in his fortress of Dunbar, his friends and followers are gathering and +forming an encampment near Coldingham, Where it is supposed they intend +to await the arrival of a large force of English, which Hotspur and Sir +Ralph Percy are assembling on the English frontier.” + +“That is cold news,” said the King; “and may God forgive George of +Dunbar!” + +The Prince entered as he spoke, and he continued: “Ha! thou art here at +length, Rothsay; I saw thee not at mass.” + +“I was an idler this morning,” said the Prince, “having spent a restless +and feverish night.” + +“Ah, foolish boy!” answered the King; “hadst thou not been over restless +on Fastern’s Eve, thou hadst not been feverish on the night of Ash +Wednesday.” + +“Let me not interrupt your praying, my liege,” said the Prince, +lightly. “Your Grace Was invoking Heaven in behalf of some one--an enemy +doubtless, for these have the frequent advantage of your orisons.” + +“Sit down and be at peace, foolish youth!” said his father, his eye +resting at the same time on the handsome face and graceful figure of +his favourite son. Rothsay drew a cushion near to his father’s feet, and +threw himself carelessly down upon it, while the King resumed. + +“I was regretting that the Earl of March, having separated warm from +my hand with full assurance that he should receive compensation for +everything which he could complain of as injurious, should have been +capable of caballing with Northumberland against his own country. Is it +possible he could doubt our intentions to make good our word?” + +“I will answer for him--no,” said the Prince. “March never doubted your +Highness’s word. Marry, he may well have made question whether your +learned counsellors would leave your Majesty the power of keeping it.” + +Robert the Third had adopted to a great extent the timid policy of not +seeming to hear expressions which, being heard, required, even in his +own eyes, some display of displeasure. He passed on, therefore, in his +discourse, without observing his son’s speech, but in private Rothsay’s +rashness augmented the displeasure which his father began to entertain +against him. + +“It is well the Douglas is on the marches,” said the King. “His +breast, like those of his ancestors, has ever been the best bulwark of +Scotland.” + +“Then woe betide us if he should turn his back to the enemy,” said the +incorrigible Rothsay. + +“Dare you impeach the courage of Douglas?” replied the King, extremely +chafed. + +“No man dare question the Earl’s courage,” said Rothsay, “it is as +certain as his pride; but his luck may be something doubted.” + +“By St. Andrew, David,” exclaimed his father, “thou art like a screech +owl, every word thou sayest betokens strife and calamity.” + +“I am silent, father,” answered the youth. + +“And what news of our Highland disturbances?” continued the King, +addressing the prior. + +“I trust they have assumed a favourable aspect,” answered the clergyman. +“The fire which threatened the whole country is likely to be drenched +out by the blood of some forty or fifty kerne; for the two great +confederacies have agreed, by solemn indenture of arms, to decided their +quarrel with such weapons as your Highness may name, and in your royal +presence, in such place as shall be appointed, on the 30th of March next +to come, being Palm Sunday; the number of combatants being limited to +thirty on each side; and the fight to be maintained to extremity, since +they affectionately make humble suit and petition to your Majesty that +you will parentally condescend to waive for the day your royal privilege +of interrupting the combat, by flinging down of truncheon or crying of +‘Ho!’ until the battle shall be utterly fought to an end.” + +“The wild savages!” exclaimed the King, “would they limit our best and +dearest royal privilege, that of putting a stop to strife, and crying +truce to battle? Will they remove the only motive which could bring me +to the butcherly spectacle of their combat? Would they fight like men, +or like their own mountain wolves?” + +“My lord,” said Albany, “the Earl of Crawford and I had presumed, +without consulting you, to ratify that preliminary, for the adoption of +which we saw much and pressing reason.” + +“How! the Earl of Crawford!” said the King. “Methinks he is a young +counsellor on such grave occurrents.” + +“He is,” replied Albany, “notwithstanding his early years, of such +esteem among his Highland neighbours, that I could have done little with +them but for his aid and influence.” + +“Hear this, young Rothsay!” said the King reproachfully to his heir. + +“I pity Crawford, sire,” replied the Prince. “He has too early lost a +father whose counsels would have better become such a season as this.” + +The King turned next towards Albany with a look of triumph, at the +filial affection which his son displayed in his reply. + +Albany proceeded without emotion. “It is not the life of these +Highlandmen, but their death, which is to be profitable to this +commonwealth of Scotland; and truly it seemed to the Earl of Crawford +and myself most desirable that the combat should be a strife of +extermination.” + +“Marry,” said the Prince, “if such be the juvenile policy of Lindsay, he +will be a merciful ruler some ten or twelve years hence! Out upon a boy +that is hard of heart before he has hair upon his lip! Better he had +contented himself with fighting cocks on Fastern’s Even than laying +schemes for massacring men on Palm Sunday, as if he were backing a Welsh +main, where all must fight to death.” + +“Rothsay is right, Albany,” said the King: “it were unlike a Christian +monarch to give way in this point. I cannot consent to see men battle +until they are all hewn down like cattle in the shambles. It would +sicken me to look at it, and the warder would drop from my hand for mere +lack of strength to hold it.” + +“It would drop unheeded,” said Albany. “Let me entreat your Grace to +recollect, that you only give up a royal privilege which, exercised, +would win you no respect, since it would receive no obedience. Were your +Majesty to throw down your warder when the war is high, and these men’s +blood is hot, it would meet no more regard than if a sparrow should drop +among a herd of battling wolves the straw which he was carrying to his +nest. Nothing will separate them but the exhaustion of slaughter; and +better they sustain it at the hands of each other than from the swords +of such troops as might attempt to separate them at your Majesty’s +commands. An attempt to keep the peace by violence would be construed +into an ambush laid for them; both parties would unite to resist it, the +slaughter would be the same, and the hoped for results of future peace +would be utterly disappointed.” + +“There is even too much truth in what you say, brother Robin,” replied +the flexible King. “To little purpose is it to command what I cannot +enforce; and, although I have the unhappiness to do so each day of +my life, it were needless to give such a very public example of royal +impotency before the crowds who may assemble to behold this spectacle. +Let these savage men, therefore, work their bloody will to the uttermost +upon each other: I will not attempt to forbid what I cannot prevent them +from executing. Heaven help this wretched country! I will to my oratory +and pray for her, since to aid her by hand and head is alike denied to +me. Father prior, I pray the support of your arm.” + +“Nay, but, brother,” said Albany, “forgive me if I remind you that we +must hear the matter between the citizens of Perth and Ramorny, about +the death of a townsman--” + +“True--true,” said the monarch, reseating himself; “more violence--more +battle. Oh, Scotland! Scotland! if the best blood of thy bravest +children could enrich thy barren soil, what land on earth would excel +thee in fertility! When is it that a white hair is seen on the beard of +a Scottishman, unless he be some wretch like thy sovereign, protected +from murder by impotence, to witness the scenes of slaughter to which he +cannot put a period? Let them come in, delay them not. They are in haste +to kill, and, grudge each other each fresh breath of their Creator’s +blessed air. The demon of strife and slaughter hath possessed the whole +land!” + +As the mild prince threw himself back on his seat with an air of +impatience and anger not very usual with him, the door at the lower end +of the room was unclosed, and, advancing from the gallery into which +it led (where in perspective was seen a guard of the Bute men, or +Brandanes, under arms), came, in mournful procession, the widow of poor +Oliver, led by Sir Patrick Charteris, with as much respect as if she had +been a lady of the first rank. Behind them came two women of good, the +wives of magistrates of the city, both in mourning garments, one bearing +the infant and the other leading the elder child. The smith followed in +his best attire, and wearing over his buff coat a scarf of crape. Bailie +Craigdallie and a brother magistrate closed the melancholy procession, +exhibiting similar marks of mourning. + +The good King’s transitory passion was gone the instant he looked at +the pallid countenance of the sorrowing widow, and beheld the +unconsciousness of the innocent orphans who had sustained so great a +loss, and when Sir Patrick Charteris had assisted Magdalen Proudfute to +kneel down and, still holding her hand, kneeled himself on one knee, +it was with a sympathetic tone that King Robert asked her name and +business. She made no answer, but muttered something, looking towards +her conductor. + +“Speak for the poor woman, Sir Patrick Charteris,” said the King, “and +tell us the cause of her seeking our presence.” + +“So please you, my liege,” answered Sir Patrick, rising up, “this woman, +and these unhappy orphans, make plaint to your Highness upon Sir John +Ramorny of Ramorny, Knight, that by him, or by some of his household, +her umquhile husband, Oliver Proudfute, freeman and burgess of Perth, +was slain upon the streets of the city on the eve of Shrove Tuesday or +morning of Ash Wednesday.” + +“Woman,” replied the King, with much kindness, “thou art gentle by sex, +and shouldst be pitiful even by thy affliction; for our own calamity +ought to make us--nay, I think it doth make us--merciful to others. Thy +husband hath only trodden the path appointed to us all.” + +“In his case,” said the widow, “my liege must remember it has been a +brief and a bloody one.” + +“I agree he hath had foul measure. But since I have been unable to +protect him, as I confess was my royal duty, I am willing, in atonement, +to support thee and these orphans, as well or better than you lived in +the days of your husband; only do thou pass from this charge, and be +not the occasion of spilling more life. Remember, I put before you the +choice betwixt practising mercy and pursuing vengeance, and that betwixt +plenty and penury.” + +“It is true, my liege, we are poor,” answered the widow, with unshaken +firmness “but I and my children will feed with the beasts of the field +ere we live on the price of my husband’s blood. I demand the combat by +my champion, as you are belted knight and crowned king.” + +“I knew it would be so!” said the King, aside to Albany. “In Scotland +the first words stammered by an infant and the last uttered by a dying +greybeard are ‘combat--blood--revenge.’ It skills not arguing farther. +Admit the defendants.” + +Sir John Ramorny entered the apartment. He was dressed in a long furred +robe, such as men of quality wore when they were unarmed. Concealed by +the folds of drapery, his wounded arm was supported by a scarf or +sling of crimson silk, and with the left arm he leaned on a youth, +who, scarcely beyond the years of boyhood, bore on his brow the deep +impression of early thought and premature passion. This was that +celebrated Lindsay, Earl of Crawford, who, in his after days, was known +by the epithet of the Tiger Earl, and who ruled the great and rich +valley of Strathmore with the absolute power and unrelenting cruelty of +a feudal tyrant. Two or three gentlemen, friends of the Earl, or of his +own, countenanced Sir John Ramorny by their presence on this occasion. +The charge was again stated, and met by a broad denial on the part +of the accused; and in reply, the challengers offered to prove their +assertion by an appeal to the ordeal of bier right. + +“I am not bound,” answered Sir John Ramorny, “to submit to this ordeal, +since I can prove, by the evidence of my late royal master, that I was +in my own lodgings, lying on my bed, ill at ease, while this provost and +these bailies pretend I was committing a crime to which I had neither +will nor temptation. I can therefore be no just object of suspicion.” + +“I can aver,” said the Prince, “that I saw and conversed with Sir John +Ramorny about some matters concerning my own household on the very night +when this murder was a-doing. I therefore know that he was ill at ease, +and could not in person commit the deed in question. But I know nothing +of the employment of his attendants, and will not take it upon me to say +that some one of them may not have been guilty of the crime now charged +on them.” + +Sir John Ramorny had, during the beginning of this speech, looked +round with an air of defiance, which was somewhat disconcerted by the +concluding sentence of Rothsay’s speech. + +“I thank your Highness,” he said, with a smile, “for your cautious and +limited testimony in my behalf. He was wise who wrote, ‘Put not your +faith in princes.’” + +“If you have no other evidence of your innocence, Sir John Ramorny,” + said the King, “we may not, in respect to your followers, refuse to +the injured widow and orphans, the complainers, the grant of a proof by +ordeal of bier right, unless any of them should prefer that of combat. +For yourself, you are, by the Prince’s evidence, freed from the +attaint.” + +“My liege,” answered Sir John, “I can take warrant upon myself for the +innocence of my household and followers.” + +“Why, so a monk or a woman might speak,” said Sir Patrick Charteris. “In +knightly language, wilt thou, Sir John de Ramorny, do battle with me in +the behalf of thy followers?” + +“The provost of Perth had not obtained time to name the word combat,” + said Ramorny, “ere I would have accepted it. But I am not at present fit +to hold a lance.” + +“I am glad of it, under your favour, Sir John. There will be the less +bloodshed,” said the King. “You must therefore produce your followers +according to your steward’s household book, in the great church of +St. John, that, in presence of all whom it may concern, they may purge +themselves of this accusation. See that every man of them do appear at +the time of high mass, otherwise your honour may be sorely tainted.” + +“They shall attend to a man,” said Sir John Ramorny. + +Then bowing low to the King, he directed himself to the young Duke of +Rothsay, and, making a deep obeisance, spoke so as to be heard by him +alone. “You have used me generously, my lord! One word of your lips +could have ended this controversy, and you have refused to speak it.” + +“On my life,” whispered the Prince, “I spake as far as the extreme verge +of truth and conscience would permit. I think thou couldst not expect +I should frame lies for thee; and after all, John, in my broken +recollections of that night, I do bethink me of a butcherly looking +mute, with a curtal axe, much like such a one as may have done yonder +night job. Ha! have I touched you, sir knight?” + +Ramorny made no answer, but turned as precipitately as if some one had +pressed suddenly on his wounded arm, and regained his lodgings with +the Earl of Crawford; to whom, though disposed for anything rather than +revelry, he was obliged to offer a splendid collation, to acknowledge +in some degree his sense of the countenance which the young noble had +afforded him. + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + In pottingry he wrocht great pyne; + He murdreit mony in medecyne. + + DUNBAR. + + +When, after an entertainment the prolonging of which was like torture to +the wounded knight, the Earl of Crawford at length took horse, to go +to his distant quarters in the Castle of Dupplin, where he resided as +a guest, the Knight of Ramorny retired into his sleeping apartment, +agonized by pains of body and anxiety of mind. Here he found Henbane +Dwining, on whom it was his hard fate to depend for consolation in both +respects. The physician, with his affectation of extreme humility, hoped +he saw his exalted patient merry and happy. + +“Merry as a mad dog,” said Ramorny, “and happy as the wretch whom the +cur hath bitten, and who begins to feel the approach of the ravening +madness! That ruthless boy, Crawford, saw my agony, and spared not a +single carouse. I must do him justice, forsooth! If I had done justice +to him and to the world, I had thrown him out of window and cut short +a career which, if he grew up as he has begun, will prove a source of +misery to all Scotland, but especially to Tayside. Take heed as thou +undoest the ligatures, chirurgeon, the touch of a fly’s wing on that raw +glowing stump were like a dagger to me.” + +“Fear not, my noble patron,” said the leech, with a chuckling laugh +of enjoyment, which he vainly endeavoured to disguise under a tone of +affected sensibility. “We will apply some fresh balsam, and--he, he, +he!--relieve your knightly honour of the irritation which you sustain so +firmly.” + +“Firmly, man!” said Ramorny, grinning with pain; “I sustain it as I +would the scorching flames of purgatory. The bone seems made of red hot +iron; thy greasy ointment will hiss as it drops upon the wound. And yet +it is December’s ice, compared to the fever fit of my mind!” + +“We will first use our emollients upon the body, my noble patron,” said +Dwining; “and then, with your knighthood’s permission; your servant will +try his art on the troubled mind; though I fain hope even the mental +pain also may in some degree depend on the irritation of the wound, and +that, abated as I trust the corporeal pangs will soon be, perhaps the +stormy feelings of the mind may subside of themselves.” + +“Henbane Dwining,” said the patient, as he felt the pain of his wound +assuaged, “thou art a precious and invaluable leech, but some things +are beyond thy power. Thou canst stupify my bodily cause of this raging +agony, but thou canst not teach me to bear the score of the boy whom I +have brought up--whom I loved, Dwining--for I did love him--dearly love +him! The worst of my ill deeds have been to flatter his vices; and he +grudged me a word of his mouth, when a word would have allayed this +cumber! He smiled, too--I saw him smile--when yon paltry provost, +the companion and patron of wretched burghers, defied me, whom this +heartless prince knew to be unable to bear arms. Ere I forget or forgive +it, thou thyself shalt preach up the pardoning of injuries! And then +the care for tomorrow! Think’st thou, Henbane Dwining, that, in very +reality, the Wounds of the slaughtered corpse will gape and shed tears +of fresh blood at the murderer’s approach?” + +“I cannot tell, my lord, save by report,” said Dwining, “which avouches +the fact.” + +“The brute Bonthron,” said Ramorny, “is startled at the apprehension of +such a thing, and speaking of being rather willing to stand the combat. +What think’st thou? He is a fellow of steel.” + +“It is the armourer’s trade to deal with steel,” replied Dwining. + +“Were Bonthron to fall, it would little grieve me,” said Ramorny; +“though I should miss an useful hand.” + +“I well believe your lordship will not sorrow as for that you lost in +Curfew Street. Excuse my pleasantry, he, he! But what are the useful +properties of this fellow Bonthron?” + +“Those of a bulldog,” answered the knight, “he worries without barking.” + +“You have no fear of his confessing?” said the physician. + +“Who can tell what the dread of approaching death may do?” replied the +patient. “He has already shown a timorousness entirely alien from his +ordinary sullenness of nature; he, that would scarce wash his hands +after he had slain a man, is now afraid to see a dead body bleed.” + +“Well,” said the leech, “I must do something for him if I can, since it +was to further my revenge that he struck yonder downright blow, though +by ill luck it lighted not where it was intended.” + +“And whose fault was that, timid villain,” said Ramorny, “save thine +own, who marked a rascal deer for a buck of the first head?” + +“Benedicite, noble sir,” replied the mediciner; “would you have me, who +know little save of chamber practice, be as skilful of woodcraft as +your noble self, or tell hart from hind, doe from roe, in a glade at +midnight? I misdoubted me little when I saw the figure run past us to +the smith’s habitation in the wynd, habited like a morrice dancer; and +yet my mind partly misgave me whether it was our man, for methought he +seemed less of stature. But when he came out again, after so much time +as to change his dress, and swaggered onward with buff coat and steel +cap, whistling after the armourer’s wonted fashion, I do own I was +mistaken super totam materiem, and loosed your knighthood’s bulldog upon +him, who did his devoir most duly, though he pulled down the wrong deer. +Therefore, unless the accursed smith kill our poor friend stone dead on +the spot, I am determined, if art may do it, that the ban dog Bonthron +shall not miscarry.” + +“It will put thine art to the test, man of medicine,” said Ramorny; “for +know that, having the worst of the combat, if our champion be not killed +stone dead in the lists, he will be drawn forth of them by the heels, +and without further ceremony knitted up to the gallows, as convicted of +the murder; and when he hath swung there like a loose tassel for an +hour or so, I think thou wilt hardly take it in hand to cure his broken +neck.” + +“I am of a different opinion, may it please your knighthood,” answered +Dwining, gently. “I will carry him off from the very foot of the gallows +into the land of faery, like King Arthur, or Sir Huon of Bordeaux, or +Ugero the Dane; or I will, if I please, suffer him to dangle on the +gibbet for a certain number of minutes, or hours, and then whisk him +away from the sight of all, with as much ease as the wind wafts away the +withered leaf.” + +“This is idle boasting, sir leech,” replied Ramorny. “The whole mob of +Perth will attend him to the gallows, each more eager than another to +see the retainer of a nobleman die, for the slaughter of a cuckoldly +citizen. There will be a thousand of them round the gibbet’s foot.” + +“And were there ten thousand,” said Dwining, “shall I, who am a high +clerk, and have studied in Spain, and Araby itself, not be able to +deceive the eyes of this hoggish herd of citizens, when the pettiest +juggler that ever dealt in legerdemain can gull even the sharp +observation of your most intelligent knighthood? I tell you, I will put +the change on them as if I were in possession of Keddie’s ring.” + +“If thou speakest truth,” answered the knight, “and I think thou darest +not palter with me on such a theme, thou must have the aid of Satan, and +I will have nought to do with him. I disown and defy him.” + +Dwining indulged in his internal chuckling laugh when he heard his +patron testify his defiance of the foul fiend, and saw him second it by +crossing himself. He composed himself, however, upon observing Ramorny’s +aspect become very stern, and said, with tolerable gravity, though a +little interrupted by the effort necessary to suppress his mirthful +mood: + +“Confederacy, most devout sir--confederacy is the soul of jugglery. +But--he, he, he!--I have not the honour to be--he, he!--an ally of the +gentleman of whom you speak--in whose existence I am--he, he!--no +very profound believer, though your knightship, doubtless, hath better +opportunities of acquaintance.” + +“Proceed, rascal, and without that sneer, which thou mayst otherwise +dearly pay for.” + +“I will, most undaunted,” replied Dwining. “Know that I have my +confederate too, else my skill were little worth.” + +“And who may that be, pray you?” + +“Stephen Smotherwell, if it like your honour, lockman of this Fair City. +I marvel your knighthood knows him not.” + +“And I marvel thy knaveship knows him not on professional acquaintance,” + replied Ramorny; “but I see thy nose is unslit, thy ears yet uncropped, +and if thy shoulders are scarred or branded, thou art wise for using a +high collared jerkin.” + +“He, he! your honour is pleasant,” said the mediciner. “It is not by +personal circumstances that I have acquired the intimacy of Stephen +Smotherwell, but on account of a certain traffic betwixt us, in which +an’t please you, I exchange certain sums of silver for the bodies, +heads, and limbs of those who die by aid of friend Stephen.” + +“Wretch!” exclaimed the knight with horror, “is it to compose charms and +forward works of witchcraft that you trade for these miserable relics of +mortality?” + +“He, he, he! No, an it please your knighthood,” answered the mediciner, +much amused with the ignorance of his patron; “but we, who are knights +of the scalpel, are accustomed to practise careful carving of the limbs +of defunct persons, which we call dissection, whereby we discover, by +examination of a dead member, how to deal with one belonging to a living +man, which hath become diseased through injury or otherwise. Ah! if your +honour saw my poor laboratory, I could show you heads and hands, feet +and lungs, which have been long supposed to be rotting in the mould. +The skull of Wallace, stolen from London Bridge; the head of Sir +Simon Fraser [the famous ancestor of the Lovats, slain at Halidon Hill +(executed in London in 1306)], that never feared man; the lovely skull +of the fair Katie Logie [(should be Margaret Logie), the beautiful +mistress of David II]. Oh, had I but had the fortune to have preserved +the chivalrous hand of mine honoured patron!” + +Out upon thee, slave! Thinkest thou to disgust me with thy catalogue of +horrors? Tell me at once where thy discourse drives. How can thy traffic +with the hangdog executioner be of avail to serve me, or to help my +servant Bonthron?” + +“Nay, I do not recommend it to your knighthood, save in an extremity,” + replied Dwining. “But we will suppose the battle fought and our cock +beaten. Now we must first possess him with the certainty that, if unable +to gain the day, we will at least save him from the hangman, provided he +confess nothing which can prejudice your knighthood’s honour.” + +“Ha! ay, a thought strikes me,” said Ramorny. “We can do more than this, +we can place a word in Bonthron’s mouth that will be troublesome enough +to him whom I am bound to curse for being the cause of my misfortune. +Let us to the ban dog’s kennel, and explain to him what is to be done +in every view of the question. If we can persuade him to stand the bier +ordeal, it may be a mere bugbear, and in that case we are safe. If he +take the combat, he is fierce as a baited bear, and may, perchance, +master his opponent; then we are more than safe, we are avenged. If +Bonthron himself is vanquished, we will put thy device in exercise; and +if thou canst manage it cleanly; we may dictate his confession, take the +advantage of it, as I will show thee on further conference, and make a +giant stride towards satisfaction for my wrongs. Still there remains +one hazard. Suppose our mastiff mortally wounded in the lists, who shall +prevent his growling out some species of confession different from what +we would recommend?” + +“Marry, that can his mediciner,” said Dwining. “Let me wait on him, and +have the opportunity to lay but a finger on his wound, and trust me he +shall betray no confidence.” + +“Why, there’s a willing fiend, that needs neither pushing nor +prompting!” said Ramorny. + +“As I trust I shall need neither in your knighthood’s service.” + +“We will go indoctrinate our agent,” continued the knight. “We shall +find him pliant; for, hound as he is, he knows those who feed from those +who browbeat him; and he holds a late royal master of mine in deep hate +for some injurious treatment and base terms which he received at his +hand. I must also farther concert with thee the particulars of +thy practice, for saving the ban dog from the hands of the herd of +citizens.” + +We leave this worthy pair of friends to their secret practices, of which +we shall afterwards see the results. They were, although of different +qualities, as well matched for device and execution of criminal projects +as the greyhound is to destroy the game which the slowhound raises, or +the slowhound to track the prey which the gazehound discovers by the +eye. Pride and selfishness were the characteristics of both; but, from +the difference of rank, education, and talents, they had assumed the +most different appearance in the two individuals. + +Nothing could less resemble the high blown ambition of the favourite +courtier, the successful gallant, and the bold warrior than the +submissive, unassuming mediciner, who seemed even to court and delight +in insult; whilst, in his secret soul, he felt himself possessed of a +superiority of knowledge, a power both of science and of mind, which +placed the rude nobles of the day infinitely beneath him. So conscious +was Henbane Dwining of this elevation, that, like a keeper of wild +beasts, he sometimes adventured, for his own amusement, to rouse the +stormy passions of such men as Ramorny, trusting, with his humble +manner, to elude the turmoil he had excited, as an Indian boy will +launch his light canoe, secure from its very fragility, upon a broken +surf, in which the boat of an argosy would be assuredly dashed to +pieces. That the feudal baron should despise the humble practitioner +in medicine was a matter of course; but Ramorny felt not the less the +influence which Dwining exercised over him, and was in the encounter +of their wits often mastered by him, as the most eccentric efforts of +a fiery horse are overcome by a boy of twelve years old, if he has been +bred to the arts of the manege. But the contempt of Dwining for Ramorny +was far less qualified. He regarded the knight, in comparison with +himself, as scarcely rising above the brute creation; capable, indeed, +of working destruction, as the bull with his horns or the wolf with his +fangs, but mastered by mean prejudices, and a slave to priest craft, in +which phrase Dwining included religion of every kind. On the whole, he +considered Ramorny as one whom nature had assigned to him as a serf, to +mine for the gold which he worshipped, and the avaricious love of +which was his greatest failing, though by no means his worst vice. He +vindicated this sordid tendency in his own eyes by persuading himself +that it had its source in the love of power. + +“Henbane Dwining,” he said, as he gazed in delight upon the hoards which +he had secretly amassed, and which he visited from time to time, “is no +silly miser that doats on those pieces for their golden lustre: it is +the power with which they endow the possessor which makes him thus adore +them. What is there that these put not within your command? Do you love +beauty, and are mean, deformed, infirm, and old? Here is a lure the +fairest hawk of them all will stoop to. Are you feeble, weak, subject +to the oppression of the powerful? Here is that will arm in your defence +those more mighty than the petty tyrant whom you fear. Are you splendid +in your wishes, and desire the outward show of opulence? This dark chest +contains many a wide range of hill and dale, many a fair forest full +of game, the allegiance of a thousand vassals. Wish you for favour in +courts, temporal or spiritual? The smiles of kings, the pardon of popes +and priests for old crimes, and the indulgence which encourages priest +ridden fools to venture on new ones--all these holy incentives to vice +may be purchased for gold. Revenge itself, which the gods are said to +reserve to themselves, doubtless because they envy humanity so sweet a +morsel--revenge itself is to be bought by it. But it is also to be won +by superior skill, and that is the nobler mode of reaching it. I will +spare, then, my treasure for other uses, and accomplish my revenge +gratis; or rather I will add the luxury of augmented wealth to the +triumph of requited wrongs.” + +Thus thought Dwining, as, returned from his visit to Sir John Ramorny, +he added the gold he had received for his various services to the mass +of his treasure; and, having gloated over the whole for a minute or two, +turned the key on his concealed treasure house, and walked forth on his +visits to his patients, yielding the wall to every man whom he met and +bowing and doffing his bonnet to the poorest burgher that owned a petty +booth, nay, to the artificers who gained their precarious bread by the +labour of their welked hands. + +“Caitiffs,” was the thought of his heart while he did such +obeisance--“base, sodden witted mechanics! did you know what this +key could disclose, what foul weather from heaven would prevent your +unbonneting? what putrid kennel in your wretched hamlet would be +disgusting enough to make you scruple to fall down and worship the owner +of such wealth? But I will make you feel my power, though it suits my +honour to hide the source of it. I will be an incubus to your city, +since you have rejected me as a magistrate. Like the night mare, I will +hag ride ye, yet remain invisible myself. This miserable Ramorny, too, +he who, in losing his hand, has, like a poor artisan, lost the only +valuable part of his frame, he heaps insulting language on me, as if +anything which he can say had power to chafe a constant mind like mine! +Yet, while he calls me rogue, villain, and slave, he acts as wisely as +if he should amuse himself by pulling hairs out of my head while my hand +had hold of his heart strings. Every insult I can pay back instantly +by a pang of bodily pain or mental agony, and--he, he!--I run no long +accounts with his knighthood, that must be allowed.” + +While the mediciner was thus indulging his diabolical musing, and +passing, in his creeping manner, along the street, the cry of females +was heard behind him. + +“Ay, there he is, Our Lady be praised!--there is the most helpful man in +Perth,” said one voice. + +“They may speak of knights and kings for redressing wrongs, as they +call it; but give me worthy Master Dwining the potter carrier, cummers,” + replied another. + +At the same moment, the leech was surrounded and taken hold of by the +speakers, good women of the Fair City. + +“How now, what’s the matter?” said Dwining, “whose cow has calved?” + +“There is no calving in the case,” said one of the women, “but a poor +fatherless wean dying; so come awa’ wi’ you, for our trust is constant +in you, as Bruce said to Donald of the Isles.” + +“Opiferque per orbem dicor,” said Henbane Dwining. “What is the child +dying of?” + +“The croup--the croup,” screamed one of the gossips; “the innocent is +rouping like a corbie.” + +“Cynanche trachealis--that disease makes brief work. Show me the house +instantly,” continued the mediciner, who was in the habit of exercising +his profession liberally, not withstanding his natural avarice, and +humanely, in spite of his natural malignity. As we can suspect him of no +better principle, his motive most probably may have been vanity and the +love of his art. + +He would nevertheless have declined giving his attendance in the present +case had he known whither the kind gossips were conducting him, in time +sufficient to frame an apology. But, ere he guessed where he was going, +the leech was hurried into the house of the late Oliver Proudfute, from +which he heard the chant of the women as they swathed and dressed the +corpse of the umquhile bonnet maker for the ceremony of next morning, of +which chant the following verses may be received as a modern imitation: + + Viewless essence, thin and bare, + Well nigh melted into air, + Still with fondness hovering near + The earthly form thou once didst wear, + + Pause upon thy pinion’s flight; + Be thy course to left or right, + Be thou doom’d to soar or sink, + Pause upon the awful brink. + + To avenge the deed expelling + Thee untimely from thy dwelling, + Mystic force thou shalt retain + O’er the blood and o’er the brain. + + When the form thou shalt espy + That darken’d on thy closing eye, + When the footstep thou shalt hear + That thrill’d upon thy dying ear, + + Then strange sympathies shall wake, + The flesh shall thrill, the nerves shall quake, + The wounds renew their clotter’d flood, + And every drop cry blood for blood! + +Hardened as he was, the physician felt reluctance to pass the threshold +of the man to whose death he had been so directly, though, so far as the +individual was concerned, mistakingly, accessory. + +“Let me pass on, women,” he said, “my art can only help the living--the +dead are past our power.” + +“Nay, but your patient is upstairs--the youngest orphan”--Dwining was +compelled to go into the house. But he was surprised when, the instant +he stepped over the threshold, the gossips, who were busied with the +dead body, stinted suddenly in their song, while one said to the others: + +“In God’s name, who entered? That was a large gout of blood.” + +“Not so,” said another voice, “it is a drop of the liquid balm.” + +“Nay, cummer, it was blood. Again I say, who entered the house even +now?” + +One looked out from the apartment into the little entrance, where +Dwining, under pretence of not distinctly seeing the trap ladder by +which he was to ascend into the upper part of this house of lamentation, +was delaying his progress purposely, disconcerted with what had reached +him of the conversation. + +“Nay, it is only worthy Master Henbane Dwining,” answered one of the +sibyls. + +“Only Master Dwining,” replied the one who had first spoken, in a tone +of acquiescence--“our best helper in need! Then it must have been balm +sure enough.” + +“Nay,” said the other, “it may have been blood nevertheless; for +the leech, look you, when the body was found, was commanded by the +magistrates to probe the wound with his instruments, and how could the +poor dead corpse know that that was done with good purpose?” + +“Ay, truly, cummer; and as poor Oliver often mistook friends for enemies +while he was in life, his judgment cannot be thought to have mended +now.” + +Dwining heard no more, being now forced upstairs into a species of +garret, where Magdalen sat on her widowed bed, clasping to her bosom +her infant, which, already black in the face and uttering the gasping, +crowing sound which gives the popular name to the complaint, seemed on +the point of rendering up its brief existence. A Dominican monk sat near +the bed, holding the other child in his arms, and seeming from time to +time to speak a word or two of spiritual consolation, or intermingle +some observation on the child’s disorder. + +The mediciner cast upon the good father a single glance, filled +With that ineffable disdain which men of science entertain against +interlopers. His own aid was instant and efficacious: he snatched the +child from the despairing mother, stripped its throat, and opened +a vein, which, as it bled freely, relieved the little patient +instantaneously. In a brief space every dangerous symptom disappeared, +and Dwining, having bound up the vein, replaced the infant in the arms +of the half distracted mother. + +The poor woman’s distress for her husband’s loss, which had been +suspended during the extremity of the child’s danger, now returned on +Magdalen with the force of an augmented torrent, which has borne down +the dam dike that for a while interrupted its waves. + +“Oh, learned sir,” she said, “you see a poor woman of her that you once +knew a richer. But the hands that restored this bairn to my arms must +not leave this house empty. Generous, kind Master Dwining, accept of +his beads; they are made of ebony and silver. He aye liked to have his +things as handsome as any gentleman, and liker he was in all his ways to +a gentleman than any one of his standing, and even so came of it.” + +With these words, in a mute passion of grief she pressed to her breast +and to her lips the chaplet of her deceased husband, and proceeded to +thrust it into Dwining’s hands. + +“Take it,” she said, “for the love of one who loved you well. Ah, he +used ever to say, if ever man could be brought back from the brink of +the grave, it must be by Master Dwining’s guidance. And his ain bairn +is brought back this blessed day, and he is lying there stark and stiff, +and kens naething of its health and sickness! Oh, woe is me, and walawa! +But take the beads, and think on his puir soul, as you put them through +your fingers, he will be freed from purgatory the sooner that good +people pray to assoilzie him.” + +“Take back your beads, cummer; I know no legerdemain, can do no +conjuring tricks,” said the mediciner, who, more moved than perhaps his +rugged nature had anticipated, endeavoured to avoid receiving the ill +omened gift. But his last words gave offence to the churchman, whose +presence he had not recollected when he uttered them. + +“How now, sir leech!” said the Dominican, “do you call prayers for the +dead juggling tricks? I know that Chaucer, the English maker, says of +you mediciners, that your study is but little on the Bible. Our mother, +the church, hath nodded of late, but her eyes are now opened to discern +friends from foes; and be well assured--” + +“Nay, reverend father,” said Dwining, “you take me at too great +advantage. I said I could do no miracles, and was about to add that, +as the church certainly could work such conclusions, those rich beads +should be deposited in your hands, to be applied as they may best +benefit the soul of the deceased.” + +He dropped the beads into the Dominican’s hand, and escaped from the +house of mourning. + +“This was a strangely timed visit,” he said to himself, when he got safe +out of doors. “I hold such things cheap as any can; yet, though it is +but a silly fancy, I am glad I saved the squalling child’s life. But +I must to my friend Smotherwell, whom I have no doubt to bring to my +purpose in the matter of Bonthron; and thus on this occasion I shall +save two lives, and have destroyed only one.” + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + + Lo! where he lies embalmed in gore, + His wound to Heaven cries: + The floodgates of his blood implore + For vengeance from the skies. + + Uranus and Psyche. + + +The High Church of St. John in Perth, being that of the patron saint +of the burgh, had been selected by the magistrates as that in which +the community was likely to have most fair play for the display of the +ordeal. The churches and convents of the Dominicans, Carthusians, and +others of the regular clergy had been highly endowed by the King and +nobles, and therefore it was the universal cry of the city council +that “their ain good auld St. John,” of whose good graces they thought +themselves sure, ought to be fully confided in, and preferred to the new +patrons, for whom the Dominicans, Carthusians, Carmelites, and others +had founded newer seats around the Fair City. The disputes between the +regular and secular clergy added to the jealousy which dictated this +choice of the spot in which Heaven was to display a species of miracle, +upon a direct appeal to the divine decision in a case of doubtful guilt; +and the town clerk was as anxious that the church of St. John should be +preferred as if there had been a faction in the body of saints for and +against the interests of the beautiful town of Perth. + +Many, therefore, were the petty intrigues entered into and disconcerted +for the purpose of fixing on the church. But the magistrates, +considering it as a matter touching in a close degree the honour of +the city, determined, with judicious confidence in the justice and +impartiality of their patron, to confide the issue to the influence of +St. John. + +It was, therefore, after high mass had been performed with the greatest +solemnity of which circumstances rendered the ceremony capable, and +after the most repeated and fervent prayers had been offered to Heaven +by the crowded assembly, that preparations were made for appealing +to the direct judgment of Heaven on the mysterious murder of the +unfortunate bonnet maker. + +The scene presented that effect of imposing solemnity which the rites +of the Catholic Church are so well qualified to produce. The eastern +window, richly and variously painted, streamed down a torrent of +chequered light upon the high altar. On the bier placed before it were +stretched the mortal remains of the murdered man, his arms folded on his +breast, and his palms joined together, with the fingers pointed upwards, +as if the senseless clay was itself appealing to Heaven for vengeance +against those who had violently divorced the immortal spirit from its +mangled tenement. + +Close to the bier was placed the throne which supported Robert of +Scotland and his brother Albany. The Prince sat upon a lower stool, +beside his father--an arrangement which occasioned some observation, as, +Albany’s seat being little distinguished from that of the King, the heir +apparent, though of full age, seemed to be degraded beneath his uncle in +the sight of the assembled people of Perth. The bier was so placed as to +leave the view of the body it sustained open to the greater part of the +multitude assembled in the church. + +At the head of the bier stood the Knight of Kinfauns, the challenger, +and at the foot the young Earl of Crawford, as representing the +defendant. The evidence of the Duke of Rothsay in expurgation, as it +was termed, of Sir John Ramorny, had exempted him from the necessity of +attendance as a party subjected to the ordeal; and his illness served as +a reason for his remaining at home. His household, including those who, +though immediately in waiting upon Sir John, were accounted the Prince’s +domestics, and had not yet received their dismissal, amounted to eight +or ten persons, most of them esteemed men of profligate habits, and who +might therefore be deemed capable, in the riot of a festival evening, +of committing the slaughter of the bonnet maker. They were drawn up in a +row on the left side of the church, and wore a species of white cassock, +resembling the dress of a penitentiary. All eyes being bent on them, +several of this band seemed so much disconcerted as to excite among the +spectators strong prepossessions of their guilt. The real murderer had +a countenance incapable of betraying him--a sullen, dark look, which +neither the feast nor wine cup could enliven, and which the peril of +discovery and death could not render dejected. + +We have already noticed the posture of the dead body. The face was bare, +as were the breast and arms. The rest of the corpse was shrouded in a +winding sheet of the finest linen, so that, if blood should flow from +any place which was covered, it could not fail to be instantly manifest. + +High mass having been performed, followed by a solemn invocation to the +Deity, that He would be pleased to protect the innocent, and make known +the guilty, Eviot, Sir John Ramorny’s page, was summoned to undergo the +ordeal. He advanced with an ill assured step. Perhaps he thought his +internal consciousness that Bonthron must have been the assassin might +be sufficient to implicate him in the murder, though he was not directly +accessory to it. He paused before the bier; and his voice faltered, +as he swore by all that was created in seven days and seven nights, by +heaven, by hell, by his part of paradise, and by the God and author +of all, that he was free and sackless of the bloody deed done upon the +corpse before which he stood, and on whose breast he made the sign of +the cross, in evidence of the appeal. No consequences ensued. The body +remained stiff as before, the curdled wounds gave no sign of blood. + +The citizens looked on each other with faces of blank disappointment. +They had persuaded themselves of Eviot’s guilt, and their suspicions had +been confirmed by his irresolute manner. Their surprise at his escape +was therefore extreme. The other followers of Ramorny took heart, and +advanced to take the oath with a boldness which increased as one by +one they performed the ordeal, and were declared, by the voice of +the judges, free and innocent of every suspicion attaching to them on +account of the death of Oliver Proudfute. + +But there was one individual who did not partake that increasing +confidence. The name of “Bonthron--Bonthron!” sounded three times +through the aisles of the church; but he who owned it acknowledged the +call no otherwise than by a sort of shuffling motion with his feet, as +if he had been suddenly affected with a fit of the palsy. + +“Speak, dog,” whispered Eviot, “or prepare for a dog’s death!” + +But the murderer’s brain was so much disturbed by the sight before him, +that the judges, beholding his deportment, doubted whether to ordain him +to be dragged before the bier or to pronounce judgment in default; and +it was not until he was asked for the last time whether he would submit +to the ordeal, that he answered, with his usual brevity: + +“I will not; what do I know what juggling tricks may be practised to +take a poor man’s life? I offer the combat to any man who says I harmed +that dead body.” + +And, according to usual form, he threw his glove upon the floor of the +church. + +Henry Smith stepped forward, amidst the murmured applauses of his fellow +citizens, which even the august presence could not entirely suppress; +and, lifting the ruffian’s glove, which he placed in his bonnet, laid +down his own in the usual form, as a gage of battle. But Bonthron raised +it not. + +“He is no match for me,” growled the savage, “nor fit to lift my glove. +I follow the Prince of Scotland, in attending on his master of horse. +This fellow is a wretched mechanic.” + +Here the Prince interrupted him. “Thou follow me, caitiff! I discharge +thee from my service on the spot. Take him in hand, Smith, and beat +him as thou didst never thump anvil! The villain is both guilty and +recreant. It sickens me even to look at him; and if my royal father will +be ruled by me, he will give the parties two handsome Scottish axes, and +we will see which of them turns out the best fellow before the day is +half an hour older.” + +This was readily assented to by the Earl of Crawford and Sir Patrick +Charteris, the godfathers of the parties, who, as the combatants were +men of inferior rank, agreed that they should fight in steel caps, buff +jackets, and with axes, and that as soon as they could be prepared for +the combat. + +The lists were appointed in the Skinners’ Yards--a neighbouring space of +ground, occupied by the corporation from which it had the name, and +who quickly cleared a space of about thirty feet by twenty-five for +the combatants. Thither thronged the nobles, priests, and commons--all +excepting the old King, who, detesting such scenes of blood, retired +to his residence, and devolved the charge of the field upon the Earl +of Errol, Lord High Constable, to whose office it more particularly +belonged. The Duke of Albany watched the whole proceeding with a close +and wary eye. His nephew gave the scene the heedless degree of notice +which corresponded with his character. + +When the combatants appeared in the lists, nothing could be more +striking than the contrast betwixt the manly, cheerful countenance of +the smith, whose sparkling bright eye seemed already beaming with the +victory he hoped for, and the sullen, downcast aspect of the brutal +Bonthron, who looked as if he were some obscene bird, driven into +sunshine out of the shelter of its darksome haunts. They made oath +severally, each to the truth of his quarrel--a ceremony which Henry +Gow performed with serene and manly confidence, Bonthron with a dogged +resolution, which induced the Duke of Rothsay to say to the High +Constable: “Didst thou ever, my dear Errol, behold such a mixture of +malignity, cruelty, and I think fear, as in that fellow’s countenance?” + +“He is not comely,” said the Earl, “but a powerful knave as I have +seen.” + +“I’ll gage a hogshead of wine with you, my good lord, that he loses the +day. Henry the armourer is as strong as he, and much more active; and +then look at his bold bearing! There is something in that other fellow +that is loathsome to look upon. Let them yoke presently, my dear +Constable, for I am sick of beholding him.” + +The High Constable then addressed the widow, who, in her deep weeds, and +having her children still beside her, occupied a chair within the lists: +“Woman, do you willingly accept of this man, Henry the Smith, to do +battle as your champion in this cause?” + +“I do--I do, most willingly,” answered Magdalen Proudfute; “and may the +blessing of God and St. John give him strength and fortune, since he +strikes for the orphan and fatherless!” + +“Then I pronounce this a fenced field of battle,” said the Constable +aloud. “Let no one dare, upon peril of his life, to interrupt this +combat by word, speech, or look. Sound trumpets, and fight, combatants!” + +The trumpets flourished, and the combatants, advancing from the opposite +ends of the lists, with a steady and even pace, looked at each other +attentively, well skilled in judging from the motion of the eye the +direction in which a blow was meditated. They halted opposite to, and +within reach of, each other, and in turn made more than one feint +to strike, in order to ascertain the activity and vigilance of the +opponent. At length, whether weary of these manoeuvres, or fearing lest +in a contest so conducted his unwieldy strength would be foiled by the +activity of the smith, Bonthron heaved up his axe for a downright blow, +adding the whole strength of his sturdy arms to the weight of the weapon +in its descent. The smith, however, avoided the stroke by stepping +aside; for it was too forcible to be controlled by any guard which he +could have interposed. Ere Bonthron recovered guard, Henry struck him +a sidelong blow on the steel headpiece, which prostrated him on the +ground. + +“Confess, or die,” said the victor, placing his foot on the body of +the vanquished, and holding to his throat the point of the axe, which +terminated in a spike or poniard. + +“I will confess,” said the villain, glaring wildly upwards on the sky. +“Let me rise.” + +“Not till you have yielded,” said Harry Smith. + +“I do yield,” again murmured Bonthron, and Henry proclaimed aloud that +his antagonist was defeated. + +The Dukes of Rothsay and Albany, the High Constable, and the Dominican +prior now entered the lists, and, addressing Bonthron, demanded if he +acknowledged himself vanquished. + +“I do,” answered the miscreant. + +“And guilty of the murder of Oliver Proudfute?” + +“I am; but I mistook him for another.” + +“And whom didst thou intend to slay?” said the prior. “Confess, my son, +and merit thy pardon in another world for with this thou hast little +more to do.” + +“I took the slain man,” answered the discomfited combatant, “for him +whose hand has struck me down, whose foot now presses me.” + +“Blessed be the saints!” said the prior; “now all those who doubt the +virtue of the holy ordeal may have their eyes opened to their error. Lo, +he is trapped in the snare which he laid for the guiltless.” + +“I scarce ever saw the man,” said the smith. “I never did wrong to him +or his. Ask him, an it please your reverence, why he should have thought +of slaying me treacherously.” + +“It is a fitting question,” answered the prior. “Give glory where it is +due, my son, even though it is manifested by thy shame. For what reason +wouldst thou have waylaid this armourer, who says he never wronged +thee?” + +“He had wronged him whom I served,” answered Bonthron, “and I meditated +the deed by his command.” + +“By whose command?” asked the prior. + +Bonthron was silent for an instant, then growled out: “He is too mighty +for me to name.” + +“Hearken, my son,” said the churchman; “tarry but a brief hour, and the +mighty and the mean of this earth shall to thee alike be empty sounds. +The sledge is even now preparing to drag thee to the place of execution. +Therefore, son, once more I charge thee to consult thy soul’s weal by +glorifying Heaven, and speaking the truth. Was it thy master, Sir John +Ramorny, that stirred thee to so foul a deed?” + +“No,” answered the prostrate villain, “it was a greater than he.” And at +the same time he pointed with his finger to the Prince. + +“Wretch!” said the astonished Duke of Rothsay; “do you dare to hint that +I was your instigator?” + +“You yourself, my lord,” answered the unblushing ruffian. + +“Die in thy falsehood, accursed slave!” said the Prince; and, drawing +his sword, he would have pierced his calumniator, had not the Lord High +Constable interposed with word and action. + +“Your Grace must forgive my discharging mine office: this caitiff must +be delivered into the hands of the executioner. He is unfit to be dealt +with by any other, much less by your Highness.” + +“What! noble earl,” said Albany aloud, and with much real or affected +emotion, “would you let the dog pass alive from hence, to poison the +people’s ears with false accusations against the Prince of Scotland? I +say, cut him to mammocks upon the spot!” + +“Your Highness will pardon me,” said the Earl of Errol; “I must protect +him till his doom is executed.” + +“Then let him be gagged instantly,” said Albany. “And you, my royal +nephew, why stand you there fixed in astonishment? Call your resolution +up--speak to the prisoner--swear--protest by all that is sacred that you +knew not of this felon deed. See how the people look on each other and +whisper apart! My life on’t that this lie spreads faster than any Gospel +truth. Speak to them, royal kinsman, no matter what you say, so you be +constant in denial.” + +“What, sir,” said Rothsay, starting from his pause of surprise and +mortification, and turning haughtily towards his uncle; “would you have +me gage my royal word against that of an abject recreant? Let those who +can believe the son of their sovereign, the descendant of Bruce, capable +of laying ambush for the life of a poor mechanic, enjoy the pleasure of +thinking the villain’s tale true.” + +“That will not I for one,” said the smith, bluntly. “I never did aught +but what was in honour towards his royal Grace the Duke of Rothsay, and +never received unkindness from him in word, look, or deed; and I cannot +think he would have given aim to such base practice.” + +“Was it in honour that you threw his Highness from the ladder in Curfew +Street upon Fastern’s [St. Valentine’s] Even?” said Bonthron; “or think +you the favour was received kindly or unkindly?” + +This was so boldly said, and seemed so plausible, that it shook the +smith’s opinion of the Prince’s innocence. + +“Alas, my lord,” said he, looking sorrowfully towards Rothsay, “could +your Highness seek an innocent fellow’s life for doing his duty by a +helpless maiden? I would rather have died in these lists than live to +hear it said of the Bruce’s heir!” + +“Thou art a good fellow, Smith,” said the Prince; “but I cannot expect +thee to judge more wisely than others. Away with that convict to the +gallows, and gibbet him alive an you will, that he may speak falsehood +and spread scandal on us to the last prolonged moment of his existence!” + +So saying, the Prince turned away from the lists, disdaining to notice +the gloomy looks cast towards him, as the crowd made slow and reluctant +way for him to pass, and expressing neither surprise nor displeasure at +a deep, hollow murmur, or groan, which accompanied his retreat. Only a +few of his own immediate followers attended him from the field, though +various persons of distinction had come there in his train. Even the +lower class of citizens ceased to follow the unhappy Prince, whose +former indifferent reputation had exposed him to so many charges of +impropriety and levity, and around whom there seemed now darkening +suspicions of the most atrocious nature. + +He took his slow and thoughtful way to the church of the Dominicans; but +the ill news, which flies proverbially fast, had reached his father’s +place of retirement before he himself appeared. On entering the palace +and inquiring for the King, the Duke of Rothsay was surprised to be +informed that he was in deep consultation with the Duke of Albany, who, +mounting on horseback as the Prince left the lists, had reached the +convent before him. He was about to use the privilege of his rank and +birth to enter the royal apartment, when MacLouis, the commander of +the guard of Brandanes, gave him to understand, in the most respectful +terms, that he had special instructions which forbade his admittance. + +“Go at least, MacLouis, and let them know that I wait their pleasure,” + said the Prince. “If my uncle desires to have the credit of shutting the +father’s apartment against the son, it will gratify him to know that I +am attending in the outer hall like a lackey.” + +“May it please you,” said MacLouis, with hesitation, “if your Highness +would consent to retire just now, and to wait awhile in patience, I will +send to acquaint you when the Duke of Albany goes; and I doubt not that +his Majesty will then admit your Grace to his presence. At present, your +Highness must forgive me, it is impossible you can have access.” + +“I understand you, MacLouis; but go, nevertheless, and obey my +commands.” + +The officer went accordingly, and returned with a message that the King +was indisposed, and on the point of retiring to his private chamber; +but that the Duke of Albany would presently wait upon the Prince of +Scotland. + +It was, however, a full half hour ere the Duke of Albany appeared--a +period of time which Rothsay spent partly in moody silence, and +partly in idle talk with MacLouis and the Brandanes, as the levity or +irritability of his temper obtained the ascendant. + +At length the Duke came, and with him the lord High Constable, whose +countenance expressed much sorrow and embarrassment. + +“Fair kinsman,” said the Duke of Albany, “I grieve to say that it is +my royal brother’s opinion that it will be best, for the honour of the +royal family, that your Royal Highness do restrict yourself for a time +to the seclusion of the High Constable’s lodgings, and accept of the +noble Earl here present for your principal, if not sole, companion until +the scandals which have been this day spread abroad shall be refuted or +forgotten.” + +“How is this, my lord of Errol?” said the Prince in astonishment. “Is +your house to be my jail, and is your lordship to be my jailer?” + +“The saints forbid, my lord,” said the Earl of Errol “but it is my +unhappy duty to obey the commands of your father, by considering your +Royal Highness for some time as being under my ward.” + +“The Prince--the heir of Scotland, under the ward of the High Constable! +What reason can be given for this? is the blighting speech of +a convicted recreant of strength sufficient to tarnish my royal +escutcheon?” + +“While such accusations are not refuted and denied, my kinsman,” said +the Duke of Albany, “they will contaminate that of a monarch.” + +“Denied, my lord!” exclaimed the Prince; “by whom are they asserted, +save by a wretch too infamous, even by his own confession, to be +credited for a moment, though a beggar’s character, not a prince’s, were +impeached? Fetch him hither, let the rack be shown to him; you will soon +hear him retract the calumny which he dared to assert!” + +“The gibbet has done its work too surely to leave Bonthron sensible +to the rack,” said the Duke of Albany. “He has been executed an hour +since.” + +“And why such haste, my lord?” said the Prince; “know you it looks as if +there were practice in it to bring a stain on my name?” + +“The custom is universal, the defeated combatant in the ordeal of battle +is instantly transferred from the lists to the gallows. And yet, fair +kinsman,” continued the Duke of Albany, “if you had boldly and strongly +denied the imputation, I would have judged right to keep the wretch +alive for further investigation; but as your Highness was silent, I +deemed it best to stifle the scandal in the breath of him that uttered +it.” + +“St. Mary, my lord, but this is too insulting! Do you, my uncle and +kinsman, suppose me guilty of prompting such an useless and unworthy +action as that which the slave confessed?” + +“It is not for me to bandy question with your Highness, otherwise I +would ask whether you also mean to deny the scarce less unworthy, though +less bloody, attack upon the house in Couvrefew Street? Be not angry +with me, kinsman; but, indeed, your sequestering yourself for some brief +space from the court, were it only during the King’s residence in this +city, where so much offence has been given, is imperiously demanded.” + +Rothsay paused when he heard this exhortation, and, looking at the Duke +in a very marked manner, replied: + +“Uncle, you are a good huntsman. You have pitched your toils with much +skill, but you would have been foiled, not withstanding, had not the +stag rushed among the nets of free will. God speed you, and may you have +the profit by this matter which your measures deserve. Say to my father, +I obey his arrest. My Lord High Constable, I wait only your pleasure to +attend you to your lodgings. Since I am to lie in ward, I could not have +desired a kinder or more courteous warden.” + +The interview between the uncle and nephew being thus concluded, the +Prince retired with the Earl of Errol to his apartments; the citizens +whom they met in the streets passing to the further side when they +observed the Duke of Rothsay, to escape the necessity of saluting +one whom they had been taught to consider as a ferocious as well as +unprincipled libertine. The Constable’s lodgings received the owner and +his princely guest, both glad to leave the streets, yet neither feeling +easy in the situation which they occupied with regard to each other +within doors. + +We must return to the lists after the combat had ceased, and when the +nobles had withdrawn. The crowds were now separated into two distinct +bodies. That which made the smallest in number was at the same time the +most distinguished for respectability, consisting of the better class +of inhabitants of Perth, who were congratulating the successful champion +and each other upon the triumphant conclusion to which they had brought +their feud with the courtiers. The magistrates were so much elated on +the occasion, that they entreated Sir Patrick Charteris’s acceptance of +a collation in the town hall. To this Henry, the hero of the day, was of +course invited, or he was rather commanded to attend. He listened to +the summons with great embarrassment, for it may be readily believed +his heart was with Catharine Glover. But the advice of his father Simon +decided him. That veteran citizen had a natural and becoming deference +for the magistracy of the Fair City; he entertained a high estimation +of all honours which flowed from such a source, and thought that his +intended son in law would do wrong not to receive them with gratitude. + +“Thou must not think to absent thyself from such a solemn occasion, son +Henry,” was his advice. “Sir Patrick Charteris is to be there himself, +and I think it will be a rare occasion for thee to gain his goodwill. It +is like he may order of thee a new suit of harness; and I myself heard +worthy Bailie Craigdallie say there was a talk of furbishing up the +city’s armoury. Thou must not neglect the good trade, now that thou +takest on thee an expensive family.” + +“Tush, father Glover,” answered the embarrassed victor, “I lack no +custom; and thou knowest there is Catharine, who may wonder at my +absence, and have her ear abused once more by tales of glee maidens and +I wot not what.” + +“Fear not for that,” said the glover, “but go, like an obedient burgess, +where thy betters desire to have thee. I do not deny that it will cost +thee some trouble to make thy peace with Catharine about this duel; for +she thinks herself wiser in such matters than king and council, kirk +and canons, provost and bailies. But I will take up the quarrel with +her myself, and will so work for thee, that, though she may receive +thee tomorrow with somewhat of a chiding, it shall melt into tears and +smiles, like an April morning, that begins with a mild shower. Away with +thee, then, my son, and be constant to the time, tomorrow morning after +mass.” + +The smith, though reluctantly, was obliged to defer to the reasoning of +his proposed father in law, and, once determined to accept the honour +destined for him by the fathers of the city, he extricated himself from +the crowd, and hastened home to put on his best apparel; in which he +presently afterwards repaired to the council house, where the ponderous +oak table seemed to bend under the massy dishes of choice Tay salmon +and delicious sea fish from Dundee, being the dainties which the fasting +season permitted, whilst neither wine, ale, nor metheglin were wanting +to wash them down. The waits, or minstrels of the burgh, played during +the repast, and in the intervals of the music one of them recited With +great emphasis a long poetical account of the battle of Blackearnside, +fought by Sir William Wallace and his redoubted captain and friend, +Thomas of Longueville, against the English general Seward--a theme +perfectly familiar to all the guests, who, nevertheless, more tolerant +than their descendants, listened as if it had all the zest of novelty. +It was complimentary to the ancestor of the Knight of Kinfauns, +doubtless, and to other Perthshire families, in passages which the +audience applauded vociferously, whilst they pledged each other in +mighty draughts to the memory of the heroes who had fought by the side +of the Champion of Scotland. The health of Henry Wynd was quaffed +with repeated shouts, and the provost announced publicly, that the +magistrates were consulting how they might best invest him with some +distinguished privilege or honorary reward, to show how highly his +fellow citizens valued his courageous exertions. + +“Nay, take it not thus, an it like your worships,” said the smith, with +his usual blunt manner, “lest men say that valour must be rare in Perth +when they reward a man for fighting for the right of a forlorn widow. +I am sure there are many scores of stout burghers in the town who would +have done this day’s dargue as well or better than I. For, in good +sooth, I ought to have cracked yonder fellow’s head piece like an +earthen pipkin--ay, and would have done it, too, if it had not been +one which I myself tempered for Sir John Ramorny. But, an the Fair +City think my service of any worth, I will conceive it far more than +acquitted by any aid which you may afford from the common good to the +support of the widow Magdalen and her poor orphans.” + +“That may well be done,” said Sir Patrick Charteris, “and yet leave the +Fair City rich enough to pay her debts to Henry Wynd, of which every man +of us is a better judge than him self, who is blinded with an unavailing +nicety, which men call modesty. And if the burgh be too poor for this, +the provost will bear his share. The Rover’s golden angels have not all +taken flight yet.” + +The beakers were now circulated, under the name of a cup of comfort to +the widow, and anon flowed around once more to the happy memory of the +murdered Oliver, now so bravely avenged. In short, it was a feast so +jovial that all agreed nothing was wanting to render it perfect but the +presence of the bonnet maker himself, whose calamity had occasioned the +meeting, and who had usually furnished the standing jest at such festive +assemblies. Had his attendance been possible, it was drily observed by +Bailie Craigdallie, he would certainly have claimed the success of the +day, and vouched himself the avenger of his own murder. + +At the sound of the vesper bell the company broke up, some of the graver +sort going to evening prayers, where, with half shut eyes and shining +countenances, they made a most orthodox and edifying portion of a Lenten +congregation; others to their own homes, to tell over the occurrences of +the fight and feast, for the information of the family circle; and some, +doubtless, to the licensed freedoms of some tavern, the door of which +Lent did not keep so close shut as the forms of the church required. +Henry returned to the wynd, warm with the good wine and the applause of +his fellow citizens, and fell asleep to dream of perfect happiness and +Catharine Glover. + +We have said that, when the combat was decided, the spectators were +divided into two bodies. Of these, when the more respectable portion +attended the victor in joyous procession, much the greater number, or +what might be termed the rabble, waited upon the subdued and sentenced +Bonthron, who was travelling in a different direction, and for a very +opposite purpose. Whatever may be thought of the comparative attractions +of the house of mourning and of feasting under other circumstances, +there can be little doubt which will draw most visitors, when the +question is, whether we would witness miseries which we are not to +share, or festivities of which we are not to partake. Accordingly, the +tumbril in which the criminal was conveyed to execution was attended by +far the greater proportion of the inhabitants of Perth. + +A friar was seated in the same car with the murderer, to whom he did +not hesitate to repeat, under the seal of confession, the same false +asseveration which he had made upon the place of combat, which charged +the Duke of Rothsay with being director of the ambuscade by which +the unfortunate bonnet maker had suffered. The same falsehood he +disseminated among the crowd, averring, with unblushing effrontery, to +those who were nighest to the car, that he owed his death to his having +been willing to execute the Duke of Rothsay’s pleasure. For a time +he repeated these words, sullenly and doggedly, in the manner of one +reciting a task, or a liar who endeavours by reiteration to obtain +a credit for his words which he is internally sensible they do not +deserve. But when he lifted up his eyes, and beheld in the distance the +black outline of a gallows, at least forty feet high, with its ladder +and its fatal cord, rising against the horizon, he became suddenly +silent, and the friar could observe that he trembled very much. + +“Be comforted, my son,” said the good priest, “you have confessed +the truth, and received absolution. Your penitence will be accepted +according to your sincerity; and though you have been a man of bloody +hands and cruel heart, yet, by the church’s prayers, you shall be in due +time assoilzied from the penal fires of purgatory.” + +These assurances were calculated rather to augment than to diminish +the terrors of the culprit, who was agitated by doubts whether the +mode suggested for his preservation from death would to a certainty be +effectual, and some suspicion whether there was really any purpose of +employing them in his favour, for he knew his master well enough to be +aware of the indifference with which he would sacrifice one who might on +some future occasion be a dangerous evidence against him. + +His doom, however, was sealed, and there was no escaping from it. They +slowly approached the fatal tree, which was erected on a bank by the +river’s side, about half a mile from the walls of the city--a site +chosen that the body of the wretch, which was to remain food for the +carrion crows, might be seen from a distance in every direction. +Here the priest delivered Bonthron to the executioner, by whom he was +assisted up the ladder, and to all appearance despatched according to +the usual forms of the law. He seemed to struggle for life for a +minute, but soon after hung still and inanimate. The executioner, after +remaining upon duty for more than half an hour, as if to permit the +last spark of life to be extinguished, announced to the admirers of such +spectacles that the irons for the permanent suspension of the carcass +not having been got ready, the concluding ceremony of disembowelling the +dead body and attaching it finally to the gibbet would be deferred till +the next morning at sunrise. + +Notwithstanding the early hour which he had named, Master Smotherwell +had a reasonable attendance of rabble at the place of execution, to +see the final proceedings of justice with its victim. But great was the +astonishment and resentment of these amateurs to find that the dead body +had been removed from the gibbet. They were not, however, long at a loss +to guess the cause of its disappearance. Bonthron had been the follower +of a baron whose estates lay in Fife, and was himself a native of that +province. What was more natural than that some of the Fife men, whose +boats were frequently plying on the river, should have clandestinely +removed the body of their countryman from the place of public shame? The +crowd vented their rage against Smotherwell for not completing his +job on the preceding evening; and had not he and his assistant betaken +themselves to a boat, and escaped across the Tay, they would have run +some risk of being pelted to death. The event, however, was too much in +the spirit of the times to be much wondered at. Its real cause we shall +explain in the following chapter. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + Let gallows gape for dogs, let men go free. + + Henry V. + + +The incidents of a narrative of this kind must be adapted to each other, +as the wards of a key must tally accurately with those of the lock to +which it belongs. The reader, however gentle, will not hold himself +obliged to rest satisfied with the mere fact that such and such +occurrences took place, which is, generally speaking, all that in +ordinary life he can know of what is passing around him; but he is +desirous, while reading for amusement, of knowing the interior movements +occasioning the course of events. This is a legitimate and reasonable +curiosity; for every man hath a right to open and examine the mechanism +of his own watch, put together for his proper use, although he is not +permitted to pry into the interior of the timepiece which, for general +information, is displayed on the town steeple. + +It would be, therefore, uncourteous to leave my readers under any doubt +concerning the agency which removed the assassin Bonthron from the +gallows--an event which some of the Perth citizens ascribed to the foul +fiend himself, while others were content to lay it upon the natural +dislike of Bonthron’s countrymen of Fife to see him hanging on the river +side, as a spectacle dishonourable to their province. + +About midnight succeeding the day when the execution had taken place, +and while the inhabitants of Perth were deeply buried in slumber, three +men muffled in their cloaks, and bearing a dark lantern, descended the +alleys of a garden which led from the house occupied by Sir John Ramorny +to the banks of the Tay, where a small boat lay moored to a landing +place, or little projecting pier. The wind howled in a low and +melancholy manner through the leafless shrubs and bushes; and a pale +moon “waded,” as it is termed in Scotland, amongst drifting clouds, +which seemed to threaten rain. The three individuals entered the boat +with great precaution to escape observation. One of them was a tall, +powerful man; another short and bent downwards; the third middle sized, +and apparently younger than his companions, well made, and active. Thus +much the imperfect light could discover. They seated themselves in the +boat and unmoored it from the pier. + +“We must let her drift with the current till we pass the bridge, where +the burghers still keep guard; and you know the proverb, ‘A Perth +arrow hath a perfect flight,’” said the most youthful of the party, who +assumed the office of helmsman, and pushed the boat off from the pier; +whilst the others took the oars, which were muffled, and rowed with all +precaution till they attained the middle of the river; they then ceased +their efforts, lay upon their oars, and trusted to the steersman for +keeping her in mid channel. + +In this manner they passed unnoticed or disregarded beneath the stately +Gothic arches of the old bridge, erected by the magnificent patronage +of Robert Bruce in 1329, and carried away by an inundation in 1621. +Although they heard the voices of a civic watch, which, since these +disturbances commenced, had been nightly maintained in that important +pass, no challenge was given; and when they were so far down the stream +as to be out of hearing of these guardians of the night, they began to +row, but still with precaution, and to converse, though in a low tone. + +“You have found a new trade, comrade, since I left you,” said one of the +rowers to the other. “I left you engaged in tending a sick knight, and I +find you employed in purloining a dead body from the gallows.” + +“A living body, so please your squirehood, Master Buncle, or else my +craft hath failed of its purpose.” + +“So I am told, Master Pottercarrier; but, saving your clerkship, unless +you tell me your trick, I will take leave to doubt of its success.” + +“A simple toy, Master Buncle, not likely to please a genius so acute as +that of your valiancie. Marry, thus it is. This suspension of the human +body, which the vulgar call hanging, operates death by apoplexia--that +is, the blood being unable to return to the heart by the compression +of the veins, it rushes to the brain, and the man dies. Also, and as an +additional cause of dissolution, the lungs no longer receive the needful +supply of the vital air, owing to the ligature of the cord around the +thorax; and hence the patient perishes.” + +“I understand that well enough. But how is such a revulsion of blood to +the brain to be prevented, sir mediciner?” said the third person, who +was no other than Ramorny’s page, Eviot. + +“Marry, then,” replied Dwining, “hang me the patient up in such fashion +that the carotid arteries shall not be compressed, and the blood will +not determine to the brain, and apoplexia will not take place; and +again, if there be no ligature around the thorax, the lungs will be +supplied with air, whether the man be hanging in the middle heaven or +standing on the firm earth.” + +“All this I conceive,” said Eviot; “but how these precautions can be +reconciled with the execution of the sentence of hanging is what my dull +brain cannot comprehend.” + +“Ah! good youth, thy valiancie hath spoiled a fair wit. Hadst thou +studied with me, thou shouldst have learned things more difficult than +this. But here is my trick. I get me certain bandages, made of the same +substance with your young valiancie’s horse girths, having especial care +that they are of a kind which will not shrink on being strained, since +that would spoil my experiment. One loop of this substance is drawn +under each foot, and returns up either side of the leg to a cincture, +with which it is united; these cinctures are connected by divers straps +down the breast and back, in order to divide the weight. And there are +sundry other conveniences for easing the patient, but the chief is this: +the straps, or ligatures, are attached to a broad steel collar, curving +outwards, and having a hook or two, for the better security of the +halter, which the friendly executioner passes around that part of the +machine, instead of applying it to the bare throat of the patient. +Thus, when thrown off from the ladder, the sufferer will find himself +suspended, not by his neck, if it please you, but by the steel circle, +which supports the loops in which his feet are placed, and on which his +weight really rests, diminished a little by similar supports under each +arm. Thus, neither vein nor windpipe being compressed, the man will +breathe as free, and his blood, saving from fright and novelty of +situation, will flow as temperately as your valiancie’s when you stand +up in your stirrups to view a field of battle.” + +“By my faith, a quaint and rare device!” quoth Buncle. + +“Is it not?” pursued the leech, “and well worth being known to such +mounting spirits as your valiancies, since there is no knowing to what +height Sir John Ramorny’s pupils may arrive; and if these be such that +it is necessary to descend from them by a rope, you may find my mode of +management more convenient than the common practice. Marry, but you must +be provided with a high collared doublet, to conceal the ring of steel, +and, above all, such a bonus socius as Smother well to adjust the +noose.” + +“Base poison vender,” said Eviot, “men of our calling die on the field +of battle.” + +“I will save the lesson, however,” replied Buncle, “in case of some +pinching occasion. But what a night the bloody hangdog Bonthron must +have had of it, dancing a pavise in mid air to the music of his own +shackles, as the night wind swings him that way and this!” + +“It were an alms deed to leave him there,” said Eviot; “for his descent +from the gibbet will but encourage him to new murders. He knows but two +elements--drunkenness and bloodshed.” + +“Perhaps Sir John Ramorny might have been of your opinion,” said +Dwining; “but it would first have been necessary to cut out the rogue’s +tongue, lest he had told strange tales from his airy height. And there +are other reasons that it concerns not your valiancies to know. In +truth, I myself have been generous in serving him, for the fellow is +built as strong as Edinburgh Castle, and his anatomy would have matched +any that is in the chirurgical hall of Padua. But tell me, Master +Buncle, what news bring you from the doughty Douglas?” + +“They may tell that know,” said Buncle. “I am the dull ass that bears +the message, and kens nought of its purport. The safer for myself, +perhaps. I carried letters from the Duke of Albany and from Sir John +Ramorny to the Douglas, and he looked black as a northern tempest when +he opened them. I brought them answers from the Earl, at which they +smiled like the sun when the harvest storm is closing over him. Go to +your ephemerides, leech, and conjure the meaning out of that.” + +“Methinks I can do so without much cost of wit,” said the chirurgeon; +“but yonder I see in the pale moonlight our dead alive. Should he have +screamed out to any chance passenger, it were a curious interruption +to a night journey to be hailed from the top of such a gallows as that. +Hark, methinks I do hear his groans amid the whistling of the wind and +the creaking of the chains. So--fair and softly; make fast the boat +with the grappling, and get out the casket with my matters, we would be +better for a little fire, but the light might bring observation on +us. Come on, my men of valour, march warily, for we are bound for the +gallows foot. Follow with the lantern; I trust the ladder has been left. + + “Sing, three merry men, and three merry men, + And three merry men are we, + Thou on the land, and I on the sand, + And Jack on the gallows tree.” + +As they advanced to the gibbet, they could plainly hear groans, though +uttered in a low tone. Dwining ventured to give a low cough once or +twice, by way of signal; but receiving no answer, “We had best make +haste,” said he to his companions, “for our friend must be in extremis, +as he gives no answer to the signal which announces the arrival of help. +Come, let us to the gear. I will go up the ladder first and cut the +rope. Do you two follow, one after another, and take fast hold of the +body, so that he fall not when the halter is unloosed. Keep sure gripe, +for which the bandages will afford you convenience. Bethink you that, +though he plays an owl’s part tonight, he hath no wings, and to fall out +of a halter may be as dangerous as to fall into one.” + +While he spoke thus with sneer and gibe, he ascended the ladder, and +having ascertained that the men at arms who followed him had the body in +their hold, he cut the rope, and then gave his aid to support the almost +lifeless form of the criminal. + +By a skilful exertion of strength and address, the body of Bonthron was +placed safely on the ground; and the faint yet certain existence of life +having been ascertained, it was thence transported to the river side, +where, shrouded by the bank, the party might be best concealed from +observation, while the leech employed himself in the necessary means of +recalling animation, with which he had taken care to provide himself. + +For this purpose he first freed the recovered person from his shackles, +which the executioner had left unlocked on purpose, and at the same time +disengaged the complicated envelopes and bandages by which he had been +suspended. It was some time ere Dwining’s efforts succeeded; for, in +despite of the skill with which his machine had been constructed, the +straps designed to support the body had stretched so considerably as to +occasion the sense of suffocation becoming extremely overpowering. But +the address of the surgeon triumphed over all obstacles; and, after +sneezing and stretching himself, with one or two brief convulsions, +Bonthron gave decided proofs of reanimation, by arresting the hand +of the operator as it was in the act of dropping strong waters on his +breast and throat, and, directing the bottle which contained them to his +lips, he took, almost perforce, a considerable gulp of the contents. + +“It is spiritual essence double distilled,” said the astonished +operator, “and would blister the throat and burn the stomach of any +other man. But this extraordinary beast is so unlike all other human +creatures, that I should not wonder if it brought him to the complete +possession of his faculties.” + +Bonthron seemed to confirm this: he started with a strong convulsion, +sat up, stared around, and indicated some consciousness of existence. + +“Wine--wine,” were the first words which he articulated. + +The leech gave him a draught of medicated wine, mixed with water. He +rejected it, under the dishonourable epithet of “kennel washings,” and +again uttered the words, “Wine--wine.” + +“Nay, take it to thee, i’ the devil’s name,” said the leech, “since none +but he can judge of thy constitution.” + +A draught, long and deep enough to have discomposed the intellects of +any other person, was found effectual in recalling those of Bonthron to +a more perfect state; though he betrayed no recollection of where he was +or what had befallen him, and in his brief and sullen manner asked why +he was brought to the river side at this time of night. + +“Another frolic of the wild Prince, for drenching me as he did before. +Nails and blood, but I would--” + +“Hold thy peace,” interrupted Eviot, “and be thankful, I pray you, if +you have any thankfulness in you, that thy body is not crow’s meat and +thy soul in a place where water is too scarce to duck thee.” + +“I begin to bethink me,” said the ruffian; and raising the flask to his +mouth, which he saluted with a long and hearty kiss, he set the empty +bottle on the earth, dropped his head on his bosom, and seemed to muse +for the purpose of arranging his confused recollections. + +“We can abide the issue of his meditations no longer,” said Dwining; “he +will be better after he has slept. Up, sir! you have been riding the air +these some hours; try if the water be not an easier mode of conveyance. +Your valours must lend me a hand. I can no more lift this mass than I +could raise in my arms a slaughtered bull.” + +“Stand upright on thine own feet, Bonthron, now we have placed thee upon +them,” said Eviot. + +“I cannot,” answered the patient. “Every drop of blood tingles in my +veins as if it had pinpoints, and my knees refuse to bear their burden. +What can be the meaning of all this? This is some practice of thine, +thou dog leech!” + +“Ay--ay, so it is, honest Bonthron,” said Dwining--“a practice thou +shalt thank me for when thou comest to learn it. In the mean while, +stretch down in the stern of that boat, and let me wrap this cloak about +thee.” + +Assisted into the boat accordingly, Bonthron was deposited there as +conveniently as things admitted of. He answered their attentions with +one or two snorts resembling the grunt of a boar who has got some food +particularly agreeable to him. + +“And now, Buncle,” said the chirurgeon, “your valiant squireship +knows your charge. You are to carry this lively cargo by the river to +Newburgh, where you are to dispose of him as you wot of; meantime, +here are his shackles and bandages, the marks of his confinement and +liberation. Bind them up together, and fling them into the deepest pool +you pass over; for, found in your possession, they might tell tales +against us all. This low, light breath of wind from the west will permit +you to use a sail as soon as the light comes in and you are tired of +rowing. Your other valiancie, Master Page Eviot, must be content to +return to Perth with me afoot, for here severs our fair company. Take +with thee the lantern, Buncle, for thou wilt require it more than we, +and see thou send me back my flasket.” + +As the pedestrians returned to Perth, Eviot expressed his belief that +Bonthron’s understanding would never recover the shock which terror had +inflicted upon it, and which appeared to him to have disturbed all the +faculties of his mind, and in particular his memory. + +“It is not so, an it please your pagehood,” said the leech. “Bonthron’s +intellect, such as it is, hath a solid character: it Will but vacillate +to and fro like a pendulum which hath been put in motion, and then will +rest in its proper point of gravity. Our memory is, of all our powers of +mind, that which is peculiarly liable to be suspended. Deep intoxication +or sound sleep alike destroy it, and yet it returns when the drunkard +becomes sober or the sleeper is awakened. Terror sometimes produces the +same effect. I knew at Paris a criminal condemned to die by the halter, +who suffered the sentence accordingly, showing no particular degree of +timidity upon the scaffold, and behaving and expressing himself as men +in the same condition are wont to do. Accident did for him what a little +ingenious practice hath done for our amiable friend from whom we but +now parted. He was cut down and given to his friends before life was +extinct, and I had the good fortune to restore him. But, though he +recovered in other particulars, he remembered but little of his trial +and sentence. Of his confession on the morning of his execution--he! +he! he! (in his usual chuckling manner)--he remembered him not a word. +Neither of leaving the prison, nor of his passage to the Greve, where +he suffered, nor of the devout speeches with which he--he! he! +he!--edified--he! he! he!--so many good Christians, nor of ascending the +fatal tree, nor of taking the fatal leap, had my revenant the slightest +recollection.’ But here we reach the point where we must separate; +for it were unfit, should we meet any of the watch, that we be found +together, and it were also prudent that we enter the city by different +gates. My profession forms an excuse for my going and coming at all +times. Your valiant pagehood will make such explanation as may seem +sufficing.” + +“I shall make my will a sufficient excuse if I am interrogated,” said +the haughty young man. “Yet I will avoid interruption, if possible. The +moon is quite obscured, and the road as black as a wolf’s mouth.” + +“Tut,” said the physicianer, “let not your valour care for that: we +shall tread darker paths ere it be long.” + +Without inquiring into the meaning of these evil boding sentences, and +indeed hardly listening to them in the pride and recklessness of his +nature, the page of Ramorny parted from his ingenious and dangerous +companion, and each took his own way. + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + + The course of true love never did run smooth. + + SHAKSPEARE. + + +The ominous anxiety of our armourer had not played him false. When the +good glover parted with his intended son in law, after the judicial +combat had been decided, he found what he indeed had expected, that his +fair daughter was in no favourable disposition towards her lover. But +although he perceived that Catharine was cold, restrained, collected, +had cast away the appearance of mortal passion, and listened with a +reserve, implying contempt, to the most splendid description he could +give her of the combat in the Skinners’ Yards, he was determined not +to take the least notice of her altered manner, but to speak of her +marriage with his son Henry as a thing which must of course take place. +At length, when she began, as on a former occasion, to intimate that her +attachment to the armourer did not exceed the bounds of friendship, that +she was resolved never to marry, that the pretended judicial combat +was a mockery of the divine will, and of human laws, the glover not +unnaturally grew angry. + +“I cannot read thy thoughts, wench; nor can I pretend to guess under +what wicked delusion it is that you kiss a declared lover, suffer him +to kiss you, run to his house when a report is spread of his death, and +fling yourself into his arms when you find him alone [alive]. All +this shows very well in a girl prepared to obey her parents in a match +sanctioned by her father; but such tokens of intimacy, bestowed on one +whom a young woman cannot esteem, and is determined not to marry, are +uncomely and unmaidenly. You have already been more bounteous of your +favours to Henry Smith than your mother, whom God assoilzie, ever was to +me before I married her. I tell thee, Catharine, this trifling with the +love of an honest man is what I neither can, will, nor ought to endure. +I have given my consent to the match, and I insist it shall take place +without delay, and that you receive Henry Wynd tomorrow, as a man whose +bride you are to be with all despatch.” + +“A power more potent than yours, father, will say no,” replied +Catharine. + +“I will risk it; my power is a lawful one, that of a father over a +child, and an erring child,” answered her father. “God and man allow of +my influence.” + +“Then, may Heaven help us,” said Catharine; “for, if you are obstinate +in your purpose, we are all lost.” + +“We can expect no help from Heaven,” said the glover, “when we act +with indiscretion. I am clerk enough myself to know that; and that your +causeless resistance to my will is sinful, every priest will inform +you. Ay, and more than that, you have spoken degradingly of the blessed +appeal to God in the combat of ordeal. Take heed! for the Holy Church +is awakened to watch her sheepfold, and to extirpate heresy by fire and +steel; so much I warn thee of.” + +Catharine uttered a suppressed exclamation; and, with difficulty +compelling herself to assume an appearance of composure, promised her +father that, if he would spare her any farther discussion of the subject +till tomorrow morning, she would then meet him, determined to make a +full discovery of her sentiments. + +With this promise Simon Glover was obliged to remain contented, though +extremely anxious for the postponed explanation. It could not be levity +or fickleness of character which induced his daughter to act with so +much apparent inconsistency towards the man of his choice, and whom she +had so lately unequivocally owned to be also the man of her own. What +external force there could exist, of a kind powerful enough to change +the resolutions she had so decidedly expressed within twenty-four hours, +was a matter of complete mystery. + +“But I will be as obstinate as she can be,” thought the glover, “and she +shall either marry Henry Smith without farther delay or old Simon Glover +will know an excellent reason to the contrary.” + +The subject was not renewed during the evening; but early on the next +morning, just at sun rising, Catharine knelt before the bed in which her +parent still slumbered. Her heart sobbed as if it would burst, and her +tears fell thick upon her father’s face. The good old man awoke, looked +up, crossed his child’s forehead, and kissed her affectionately. + +“I understand thee, Kate,” he said; “thou art come to confession, and, I +trust, art desirous to escape a heavy penance by being sincere.” + +Catharine was silent for an instant. + +“I need not ask, my father, if you remember the Carthusian monk, +Clement, and his preachings and lessons; at which indeed you assisted so +often, that you cannot be ignorant men called you one of his converts, +and with greater justice termed me so likewise?” + +“I am aware of both,” said the old man, raising himself on his elbow; +“but I defy foul fame to show that I ever owned him in any heretical +proposition, though I loved to hear him talk of the corruptions of the +church, the misgovernment of the nobles, and the wild ignorance of +the poor, proving, as it seemed to me, that the sole virtue of our +commonweal, its strength and its estimation, lay among the burgher +craft of the better class, which I received as comfortable doctrine, and +creditable to the town. And if he preached other than right doctrine, +wherefore did his superiors in the Carthusian convent permit it? If the +shepherds turn a wolf in sheep’s clothing into the flock, they should +not blame the sheep for being worried.” + +“They endured his preaching, nay, they encouraged it,” said Catharine, +“while the vices of the laity, the contentions of the nobles, and +the oppression of the poor were the subject of his censure, and they +rejoiced in the crowds who, attracted to the Carthusian church, +forsook those of the other convents. But the hypocrites--for such they +are--joined with the other fraternities in accusing their preacher +Clement, when, passing from censuring the crimes of the state, he +began to display the pride, ignorance, and luxury of the churchmen +themselves--their thirst of power, their usurpation over men’s +consciences, and their desire to augment their worldly wealth.” + +“For God’s sake, Catharine,” said her father, “speak within doors: your +voice rises in tone and your speech in bitterness, your eyes sparkle. +It is owing to this zeal in what concerns you no more than others +that malicious persons fix upon you the odious and dangerous name of a +heretic.” + +“You know I speak no more than what is truth,” said Catharine, “and +which you yourself have avouched often.” + +“By needle and buckskin, no!” answered the glover, hastily. “Wouldst +thou have me avouch what might cost me life and limb, land and goods? +For a full commission hath been granted for taking and trying heretics, +upon whom is laid the cause of all late tumults and miscarriages; +wherefore, few words are best, wench. I am ever of mind with the old +maker: + +“Since word is thrall and thought is free, Keep well thy tongue, I +counsel thee.” + +“The counsel comes too late, father,” answered Catharine, sinking down +on a chair by her father’s bedside. “The words have been spoken and +heard; and it is indited against Simon Glover, burgess in Perth, that he +hath spoken irreverent discourses of the doctrines of Holy Church.” + +“As I live by knife and needle,” interrupted Simon, “it is a lie! I +never was so silly as to speak of what I understood not.” + +“And hath slandered the anointed of the church, both regular and +secular,” continued Catharine. + +“Nay, I will never deny the truth,” said the glover: “an idle word I may +have spoken at the ale bench, or over a pottle pot of wine, or in right +sure company; but else, my tongue is not one to run my head into peril.” + +“So you think, my dearest father; but your slightest language has been +espied, your best meaning phrases have been perverted, and you are in +dittay as a gross railer against church and churchmen, and for holding +discourse against them with loose and profligate persons, such as the +deceased Oliver Proudfute, the smith Henry of the Wynd, and others, set +forth as commending the doctrines of Father Clement, whom they charge +with seven rank heresies, and seek for with staff and spear, to try him +to the death. But that,” said Catharine, kneeling, and looking upwards +with the aspect of one of those beauteous saints whom the Catholics have +given to the fine arts--“that they shall never do. He hath escaped from +the net of the fowler; and, I thank Heaven, it was by my means.” + +“Thy means, girl--art thou mad?” said the amazed glover. + +“I will not deny what I glory in,” answered Catharine: “it was by my +means that Conachar was led to come hither with a party of men and carry +off the old man, who is now far beyond the Highland line.” + +“Thou my rash--my unlucky child!” said the glover, “hast dared to aid +the escape of one accused of heresy, and to invite Highlanders in arms +to interfere with the administration of justice within burgh? Alas! +thou hast offended both against the laws of the church and those of the +realm. What--what would become of us, were this known?” + +“It is known, my dear father,” said the maiden, firmly--“known even to +those who will be the most willing avengers of the deed.” + +“This must be some idle notion, Catharine, or some trick of those +cogging priests and nuns; it accords not with thy late cheerful +willingness to wed Henry Smith.” + +“Alas! dearest father, remember the dismal surprise occasioned by his +reported death, and the joyful amazement at finding him alive; and deem +it not wonder if I permitted myself, under your protection, to say more +than my reflection justified. But then I knew not the worst, and thought +the danger exaggerated. Alas I was yesterday fearfully undeceived, when +the abbess herself came hither, and with her the Dominican. They showed +me the commission, under the broad seal of Scotland, for inquiring into +and punishing heresy; they showed me your name and my own in a list of +suspected persons; and it was with tears--real tears, that the abbess +conjured me to avert a dreadful fate by a speedy retreat into the +cloister, and that the monk pledged his word that you should not be +molested if I complied.” + +“The foul fiend take them both for weeping crocodiles!” said the glover. + +“Alas!” replied Catharine, “complaint or anger will little help us; but +you see I have had real cause for this present alarm.” + +“Alarm! call it utter ruin. Alas! my reckless child, where was your +prudence when you ran headlong into such a snare?” + +“Hear me, father,” said Catharine; “there is still one mode of safety +held out: it is one which I have often proposed, and for which I have in +vain supplicated your permission.” + +“I understand you--the convent,” said her father. “But, Catharine, what +abbess or prioress would dare--” + +“That I will explain to you, father, and it will also show the +circumstances which have made me seem unsteady of resolution to a +degree which has brought censure upon me from yourself and others. Our +confessor, old Father Francis, whom I chose from the Dominican convent +at your command--” + +“Ay, truly,” interrupted the glover; “and I so counselled and commanded +thee, in order to take off the report that thy conscience was altogether +under the direction of Father Clement.” + +“Well, this Father Francis has at different times urged and provoked me +to converse on such matters as he judged I was likely to learn something +of from the Carthusian preacher. Heaven forgive me my blindness! I fell +into the snare, spoke freely, and, as he argued gently, as one who would +fain be convinced, I even spoke warmly in defence of what I believed +devoutly. The confessor assumed not his real aspect and betrayed not his +secret purpose until he had learned all that I had to tell him. It was +then that he threatened me with temporal punishment and with eternal +condemnation. Had his threats reached me alone, I could have stood firm; +for their cruelty on earth I could have endured, and their power beyond +this life I have no belief in.” + +“For Heaven’s sake!” said the glover, who was well nigh beside himself +at perceiving at every new word the increasing extremity of his +daughter’s danger, “beware of blaspheming the Holy Church, whose arms +are as prompt to strike as her ears are sharp to hear.” + +“To me,” said the Maid of Perth, again looking up, “the terrors of the +threatened denunciations would have been of little avail; but when they +spoke of involving thee, my father, in the charge against me, I own +I trembled, and desired to compromise. The Abbess Martha, of Elcho +nunnery, being my mother’s kinswoman, I told her my distresses, and +obtained her promise that she would receive me, if, renouncing worldly +love and thoughts of wedlock, I would take the veil in her sisterhood. +She had conversation on the topic, I doubt not, with the Dominican +Francis, and both joined in singing the same song. + +“‘Remain in the world,’ said they, ‘and thy father and thou shall be +brought to trial as heretics; assume the veil, and the errors of both +shall be forgiven and cancelled.’ They spoke not even of recantation +of errors of doctrine: all should be peace if I would but enter the +convent.” + +“I doubt not--I doubt not,” said Simon: “the old glover is thought rich, +and his wealth would follow his daughter to the convent of Elcho, unless +what the Dominicans might claim as their own share. So this was thy call +to the veil, these thy objections to Henry Wynd?” + +“Indeed, father, the course was urged on all hands, nor did my own +mind recoil from it. Sir John Ramorny threatened me with the powerful +vengeance of the young Prince, if I continued to repel his wicked suit; +and as for poor Henry, it is but of late that I have discovered, to +my own surprise--that--that I love his virtues more than I dislike his +faults. Alas! the discovery has only been made to render my quitting the +world more difficult than when I thought I had thee only to regret.” + +She rested her head on her hand and wept bitterly. + +“All this is folly,” said the glover. “Never was there an extremity so +pinching, but what a wise man might find counsel if he was daring enough +to act upon it. This has never been the land or the people over whom +priests could rule in the name of Rome, without their usurpation being +controlled. If they are to punish each honest burgher who says the +monks love gold, and that the lives of some of them cry shame upon the +doctrines they teach, why, truly, Stephen Smotherwell will not lack +employment; and if all foolish maidens are to be secluded from the world +because they follow the erring doctrines of a popular preaching friar, +they must enlarge the nunneries and receive their inmates on slighter +composition. Our privileges have been often defended against the Pope +himself by our good monarchs of yore, and when he pretended to interfere +with the temporal government of the kingdom, there wanted not a Scottish +Parliament who told him his duty in a letter that should have been +written in letters of gold. I have seen the epistle myself, and though +I could not read it, the very sight of the seals of the right reverend +prelates and noble and true barons which hung at it made my heart leap +for joy. Thou shouldst not have kept this secret, my child--but it is no +time to tax thee with thy fault. Go down, get me some food. I will mount +instantly, and go to our Lord Provost and have his advice, and, as I +trust, his protection and that of other true hearted Scottish nobles, +who will not see a true man trodden down for an idle word.” + +“Alas! my father,” said Catharine, “it was even this impetuosity which I +dreaded. I knew if I made my plaint to you there would soon be fire and +feud, as if religion, though sent to us by the Father of peace, were fit +only to be the mother of discord; and hence I could now--even now--give +up the world, and retire with my sorrow among the sisters of Elcho, +would you but let me be the sacrifice. Only, father--comfort poor Henry +when we are parted for ever; and do not--do not let him think of me too +harshly. Say Catharine will never vex him more by her remonstrances, but +that she will never forget him in her prayers.” + +“The girl hath a tongue that would make a Saracen weep,” said her +father, his own eyes sympathising with those of his daughter. “But I +will not yield way to this combination between the nun and the priest to +rob me of my only child. Away with you, girl, and let me don my clothes; +and prepare yourself to obey me in what I may have to recommend for your +safety. Get a few clothes together, and what valuables thou hast; also, +take the keys of my iron box, which poor Henry Smith gave me, and divide +what gold you find into two portions; put the one into a purse for +thyself, and the other into the quilted girdle which I made on purpose +to wear on journeys. Thus both shall be provided, in case fate should +sunder us; in which event, God send the whirlwind may take the withered +leaf and spare the green one! Let them make ready my horse instantly, +and the white jennet that I bought for thee but a day since, hoping to +see thee ride to St. John’s Kirk with maids and matrons, as blythe a +bride as ever crossed the holy threshold. But it skills not talking. +Away, and remember that the saints help those who are willing to help +themselves. Not a word in answer; begone, I say--no wilfullness now. The +pilot in calm weather will let a sea boy trifle with the rudder; but, by +my soul, when winds howl and waves arise, he stands by the helm himself. +Away--no reply.” + +Catharine left the room to execute, as well as she might, the commands +of her father, who, gentle in disposition and devotedly attached to his +child, suffered her often, as it seemed, to guide and rule both herself +and him; yet who, as she knew, was wont to claim filial obedience and +exercise parental authority with sufficient strictness when the occasion +seemed to require an enforcement of domestic discipline. + +While the fair Catharine was engaged in executing her father’s behests, +and the good old glover was hastily attiring himself, as one who was +about to take a journey, a horse’s tramp was heard in the narrow street. +The horseman was wrapped in his riding cloak, having the cape of it +drawn up, as if to hide the under part of his face, while his bonnet was +pulled over his brows, and a broad plume obscured his upper features. +He sprung from the saddle, and Dorothy had scarce time to reply to +his inquiries that the glover was in his bedroom, ere the stranger had +ascended the stair and entered the sleeping apartment. Simon, astonished +and alarmed, and disposed to see in this early visitant an apparitor or +sumner come to attach him and his daughter, was much relieved when, as +the stranger doffed the bonnet and threw the skirt of the mantle from +his face, he recognised the knightly provost of the Fair City, a visit +from whom at any time was a favour of no ordinary degree, but, being +made at such an hour, had something marvellous, and, connected with the +circumstances of the times, even alarming. + +“Sir Patrick Charteris!” said the glover. “This high honour done to your +poor beadsman--” + +“Hush!” said the knight, “there is no time for idle civilities. I came +hither because a man is, in trying occasions, his own safest page, and +I can remain no longer than to bid thee fly, good glover, since warrants +are to be granted this day in council for the arrest of thy daughter and +thee, under charge of heresy; and delay will cost you both your liberty +for certain, and perhaps your lives.” + +“I have heard something of such a matter,” said the glover, “and was +this instant setting forth to Kinfauns to plead my innocence of this +scandalous charge, to ask your lordship’s counsel, and to implore your +protection.” + +“Thy innocence, friend Simon, will avail thee but little before +prejudiced judges; my advice is, in one word, to fly, and wait for +happier times. As for my protection, we must tarry till the tide turns +ere it will in any sort avail thee. But if thou canst lie concealed for +a few days or weeks, I have little doubt that the churchmen, who, by +siding with the Duke of Albany in court intrigue, and by alleging +the decay of the purity of Catholic doctrine as the sole cause of the +present national misfortunes, have, at least for the present hour, an +irresistible authority over the King, will receive a check. In the mean +while, however, know that King Robert hath not only given way to this +general warrant for inquisition after heresy, but hath confirmed the +Pope’s nomination of Henry Wardlaw to be Archbishop of St. Andrews and +Primate of Scotland; thus yielding to Rome those freedoms and immunities +of the Scottish Church which his ancestors, from the time of Malcolm +Canmore, have so boldly defended. His brave fathers would have rather +subscribed a covenant with the devil than yielded in such a matter to +the pretensions of Rome.” + +“Alas, and what remedy?” + +“None, old man, save in some sudden court change,” said Sir Patrick. +“The King is but like a mirror, which, having no light itself, reflects +back with equal readiness any which is placed near to it for the +time. Now, although the Douglas is banded with Albany, yet the Earl is +unfavourable to the high claims of those domineering priests, having +quarrelled with them about the exactions which his retinue hath raised +on the Abbot of Arbroath. He will come back again with a high hand, for +report says the Earl of March hath fled before him. When he returns +we shall have a changed world, for his presence will control Albany; +especially as many nobles, and I myself, as I tell you in confidence, +are resolved to league with him to defend the general right. Thy exile, +therefore, will end with his return to our court. Thou hast but to seek +thee some temporary hiding place.” + +“For that, my lord,” said the glover, “I can be at no loss, since I +have just title to the protection of the high Highland chief, Gilchrist +MacIan, chief of the Clan Quhele.” + +“Nay, if thou canst take hold of his mantle thou needs no help of any +one else: neither Lowland churchman nor layman finds a free course of +justice beyond the Highland frontier.” + +“But then my child, noble sir--my Catharine?” said the glover. + +“Let her go with thee, man. The graddan cake will keep her white teeth +in order, the goat’s whey will make the blood spring to her cheek again, +which these alarms have banished and even the Fair Maiden of Perth may +sleep soft enough on a bed of Highland breckan.” + +“It is not from such idle respects, my lord, that I hesitate,” said the +glover. “Catharine is the daughter of a plain burgher, and knows not +nicety of food or lodging. But the son of MacIan hath been for many +years a guest in my house, and I am obliged to say that I have observed +him looking at my daughter, who is as good as a betrothed bride, in a +manner that, though I cared not for it in this lodging in Curfew Street, +would give me some fear of consequences in a Highland glen, where I have +no friend and Conachar many.” + +The knightly provost replied by a long whistle. “Whew! whew! Nay, in +that case, I advise thee to send her to the nunnery at Elcho, where the +abbess, if I forget not, is some relation of yours. Indeed, she said so +herself, adding, that she loved her kinswoman well, together with all +that belongs to thee, Simon.” + +“Truly, my lord, I do believe that the abbess hath so much regard for +me, that she would willingly receive the trust of my daughter, and +my whole goods and gear, into her sisterhood. Marry, her affection is +something of a tenacious character, and would be loth to unloose its +hold, either upon the wench or her tocher.” + +“Whew--whew!” again whistled the Knight of Kinfauns; “by the Thane’s +Cross, man, but this is an ill favoured pirn to wind: Yet it shall never +be said the fairest maid in the Fair City was cooped up in a convent, +like a kain hen in a cavey, and she about to be married to the bold +burgess Henry Wynd. That tale shall not be told while I wear belt and +spurs, and am called Provost of Perth.” + +“But what remede, my lord?” asked the glover. + +“We must all take our share of the risk. Come, get you and your daughter +presently to horse. You shall ride with me, and we’ll see who dare +gloom at you. The summons is not yet served on thee, and if they send +an apparitor to Kinfauns without a warrant under the King’s own hand, +I make mine avow, by the Red Rover’s soul! that he shall eat his +writ, both wax and wether skin. To horse--to horse! and,” addressing +Catharine, as she entered at the moment, “you too, my pretty maid-- + +“To horse, and fear not for your quarters; They thrive in law that trust +in Charters.” + +In a minute or two the father and daughter were on horseback, both +keeping an arrow’s flight before the provost, by his direction, that +they might not seem to be of the same company. They passed the eastern +gate in some haste, and rode forward roundly until they were out of +sight. Sir Patrick followed leisurely; but, when he was lost to the view +of the warders, he spurred his mettled horse, and soon came up with the +glover and Catharine, when a conversation ensued which throws light upon +some previous passages of this history. + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + + Hail, land of bowmen! seed of those who scorn’d + To stoop the neck to wide imperial Rome-- + Oh, dearest half of Albion sea walled! + + Albania (1737). + + +“I have been devising a mode,” said the well meaning provost, “by which +I may make you both secure for a week or two from the malice of your +enemies, when I have little doubt I may see a changed world at court. +But that I may the better judge what is to be done, tell me frankly, +Simon, the nature of your connexion with Gilchrist MacIan, which leads +you to repose such implicit confidence in him. You are a close observer +of the rules of the city, and are aware of the severe penalties which +they denounce against such burghers as have covine and alliance with the +Highland clans.” + +“True, my lord; but it is also known to you that our craft, working in +skins of cattle, stags, and every other description of hides, have a +privilege, and are allowed to transact with those Highlanders, as with +the men who can most readily supply us with the means of conducting our +trade, to the great profit of the burgh. Thus it hath chanced with me to +have great dealings with these men; and I can take it on my salvation, +that you nowhere find more just and honourable traffickers, or by whom a +man may more easily make an honest penny. I have made in my day several +distant journeys into the far Highlands, upon the faith of their chiefs; +nor did I ever meet with a people more true to their word, when you +can once prevail upon them to plight it in your behalf. And as for the +Highland chief, Gilchrist MacIan, saving that he is hasty in homicide +and fire raising towards those with whom he hath deadly feud, I have +nowhere seen a man who walketh a more just and upright path.” + +“It is more than ever I heard before,” said Sir Patrick Charteris. “Yet +I have known something of the Highland runagates too.” + +“They show another favour, and a very different one, to their friends +than to their enemies, as your lordship shall understand,” said the +glover. “However, be that as it may, it chanced me to serve Gilchrist +MacIan in a high matter. It is now about eighteen years since, that it +chanced, the Clan Quhele and Clan Chattan being at feud, as indeed they +are seldom at peace, the former sustained such a defeat as well nigh +extirpated the family of their chief MacIan. Seven of his sons were +slain in battle and after it, himself put to flight, and his castle +taken and given to the flames. His wife, then near the time of giving +birth to an infant, fled into the forest, attended by one faithful +servant and his daughter. Here, in sorrow and care enough, she gave +birth to a boy; and as the misery of the mother’s condition rendered her +little able to suckle the infant, he was nursed with the milk of a doe, +which the forester who attended her contrived to take alive in a snare. +It was not many months afterwards that, in a second encounter of these +fierce clans, MacIan defeated his enemies in his turn, and regained +possession of the district which he had lost. It was with unexpected +rapture that he found his wife and child were in existence, having never +expected to see more of them than the bleached bones, from which the +wolves and wildcats had eaten the flesh. + +“But a strong and prevailing prejudice, such as is often entertained +by these wild people, prevented their chief from enjoying the full +happiness arising from having thus regained his only son in safety. An +ancient prophecy was current among them, that the power of the tribe +should fall by means of a boy born under a bush of holly and suckled +by a white doe. The circumstance, unfortunately for the chief, tallied +exactly with the birth of the only child which remained to him, and it +was demanded of him by the elders of the clan, that the boy should be +either put to death or at least removed from the dominions of the tribe +and brought up in obscurity. Gilchrist MacIan was obliged to consent and +having made choice of the latter proposal, the child, under the name of +Conachar, was brought up in my family, with the purpose, as was at first +intended, of concealing from him all knowledge who or what he was, or of +his pretensions to authority over a numerous and warlike people. But, +as years rolled on, the elders of the tribe, who had exerted so much +authority, were removed by death, or rendered incapable of interfering +in the public affairs by age; while, on the other hand, the influence of +Gilchrist MacIan was increased by his successful struggles against +the Clan Chattan, in which he restored the equality betwixt the two +contending confederacies, which had existed before the calamitous defeat +of which I told your honour. Feeling himself thus firmly seated, he +naturally became desirous to bring home his only son to his bosom and +family; and for that purpose caused me to send the young Conachar, as +he was called, more than once to the Highlands. He was a youth expressly +made, by his form and gallantry of bearing, to gain a father’s heart. +At length, I suppose the lad either guessed the secret of his birth +or something of it was communicated to him; and the disgust which the +paughty Hieland varlet had always shown for my honest trade became more +manifest; so that I dared not so much as lay my staff over his costard, +for fear of receiving a stab with a dirk, as an answer in Gaelic to +a Saxon remark. It was then that I wished to be well rid of him, the +rather that he showed so much devotion to Catharine, who, forsooth, set +herself up to wash the Ethiopian, and teach a wild Hielandmnan mercy and +morals. She knows herself how it ended.” + +“Nay, my father,” said Catharine, “it was surely but a point of charity +to snatch the brand from the burning.” + +“But a small point of wisdom,” said her father, “to risk the burning of +your own fingers for such an end. What says my lord to the matter?” + +“My lord would not offend the Fair Maid of Perth,” said Sir Patrick; +“and he knows well the purity and truth of her mind. And yet I must +needs say that, had this nursling of the doe been shrivelled, haggard, +cross made, and red haired, like some Highlanders I have known, I +question if the Fair Maiden of Perth would have bestowed so much zeal +upon his conversion; and if Catharine had been as aged, wrinkled, and +bent by years as the old woman that opened the door for me this morning, +I would wager my gold spurs against a pair of Highland brogues that this +wild roebuck would never have listened to a second lecture. You laugh, +glover, and Catharine blushes a blush of anger. Let it pass, it is the +way of the world.” + +“The way in which the men of the world esteem their neighbours, my +lord,” answered Catharine, with some spirit. + +“Nay, fair saint, forgive a jest,” said the knight; “and thou, Simon, +tell us how this tale ended--with Conachar’s escape to the Highlands, I +suppose?” + +“With his return thither,” said the glover. “There was, for some two +or three years, a fellow about Perth, a sort of messenger, who came +and went under divers pretences, but was, in fact, the means of +communication between Gilchrist MacIan and his son, young Conachar, or, +as he is now called, Hector. From this gillie I learned, in general, +that the banishment of the dault an neigh dheil, or foster child of +the white doe, was again brought under consideration of the tribe. His +foster father, Torquil of the Oak, the old forester, appeared with +eight sons, the finest men of the clan, and demanded that the doom of +banishment should be revoked. He spoke with the greater authority, as +he was himself taishatar, or a seer, and supposed to have communication +with the invisible world. He affirmed that he had performed a magical +ceremony, termed tine egan, by which he evoked a fiend, from whom he +extorted a confession that Conachar, now called Eachin, or Hector, +MacIan, was the only man in the approaching combat between the two +hostile clans who should come off without blood or blemish. Hence +Torquil of the Oak argued that the presence of the fated person was +necessary to ensure the victory. ‘So much I am possessed of this,’ said +the forester, ‘that, unless Eachin fight in his place in the ranks of +the Clan Quhele, neither I, his foster father, nor any of my eight sons +will lift a weapon in the quarrel.’ + +“This speech was received with much alarm; for the defection of +nine men, the stoutest of their tribe, would be a serious blow, more +especially if the combat, as begins to be rumoured, should be decided by +a small number from each side. The ancient superstition concerning +the foster son of the white doe was counterbalanced by a new and later +prejudice, and the father took the opportunity of presenting to the +clan his long hidden son, whose youthful, but handsome and animated, +countenance, haughty carriage, and active limbs excited the admiration +of the clansmen, who joyfully received him as the heir and descendant of +their chief, notwithstanding the ominous presage attending his birth and +nurture. + +“From this tale, my lord,” continued Simon Glover, “your lordship may +easily conceive why I myself should be secure of a good reception among +the Clan Quhele; and you may also have reason to judge that it would be +very rash in me to carry Catharine thither. And this, noble lord, is the +heaviest of my troubles.” + +“We shall lighten the load, then,” said Sir Patrick; “and, good glover, +I will take risk for thee and this damsel. My alliance with the Douglas +gives me some interest with Marjory, Duchess of Rothsay, his daughter, +the neglected wife of our wilful Prince. Rely on it, good glover, that +in her retinue thy daughter will be as secure as in a fenced castle. The +Duchess keeps house now at Falkland, a castle which the Duke of Albany, +to whom it belongs, has lent to her for her accommodation. I cannot +promise you pleasure, Fair Maiden; for the Duchess Marjory of Rothsay +is unfortunate, and therefore splenetic, haughty, and overbearing; +conscious of the want of attractive qualities, therefore jealous of +those women who possess them. But she is firm in faith and noble in +spirit, and would fling Pope or prelate into the ditch of her castle who +should come to arrest any one under her protection. You will therefore +have absolute safety, though you may lack comfort.” + +“I have no title to more,” said Catharine; “and deeply do I feel the +kindness that is willing to secure me such honourable protection. If she +be haughty, I will remember she is a Douglas, and hath right, as being +such, to entertain as much pride as may become a mortal; if she be +fretful, I will recollect that she is unfortunate, and if she be +unreasonably captious, I will not forget that she is my protectress. +Heed no longer for me, my lord, when you have placed me under the noble +lady’s charge. But my poor father, to be exposed amongst these wild and +dangerous people!” + +“Think not of that, Catharine,” said the glover: “I am as familiar with +brogues and bracken as if I had worn them myself. I have only to fear +that the decisive battle may be fought before I can leave this country; +and if the clan Quhele lose the combat, I may suffer by the ruin of my +protectors.” + +“We must have that cared for,” said Sir Patrick: “rely on my looking out +for your safety. But which party will carry the day, think you?” + +“Frankly, my Lord Provost, I believe the Clan Chattan will have the +worse: these nine children of the forest form a third nearly of the band +surrounding the chief of Clan Quhele, and are redoubted champions.” + +“And your apprentice, will he stand to it, thinkest thou?” + +“He is hot as fire, Sir Patrick,” answered the glover; “but he is also +unstable as water. Nevertheless, if he is spared, he seems likely to be +one day a brave man.” + +“But, as now, he has some of the white doe’s milk still lurking about +his liver, ha, Simon?” + +“He has little experience, my lord,” said the glover, “and I need not +tell an honoured warrior like yourself that danger must be familiar to +us ere we can dally with it like a mistress.” + +This conversation brought them speedily to the Castle of Kinfauns, +where, after a short refreshment, it was necessary that the father and +the daughter should part, in order to seek their respective places of +refuge. It was then first, as she saw that her father’s anxiety on her +account had drowned all recollections of his friend, that Catharine +dropped, as if in a dream, the name of “Henry Gow.” + +“True--most true,” continued her father; “we must possess him of our +purposes.” + +“Leave that to me,” said Sir Patrick. “I will not trust to a messenger, +nor will I send a letter, because, if I could write one, I think he +could not read it. He will suffer anxiety in the mean while, but I will +ride to Perth tomorrow by times and acquaint him with your designs.” + +The time of separation now approached. It was a bitter moment, but +the manly character of the old burgher, and the devout resignation of +Catharine to the will of Providence made it lighter than might have been +expected. The good knight hurried the departure of the burgess, but +in the kindest manner; and even went so far as to offer him some gold +pieces in loan, which might, where specie was so scarce, be considered +as the ne plus ultra of regard. The glover, however, assured him he +was amply provided, and departed on his journey in a northwesterly +direction. The hospitable protection of Sir Patrick Charteris was no +less manifested towards his fair guest. She was placed under the charge +of a duenna who managed the good knight’s household, and was compelled +to remain several days in Kinfauns, owing to the obstacles and delays +interposed by a Tay boatman, named Kitt Henshaw, to whose charge she was +to be committed, and whom the provost highly trusted. + +Thus were severed the child and parent in a moment of great danger and +difficulty, much augmented by circumstances of which they were then +ignorant, and which seemed greatly to diminish any chance of safety that +remained for them. + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + + “This Austin humbly did.” “Did he?” quoth he. + “Austin may do the same again for me.” + + Pope’s Prologue to Canterbury Tales from Chaucer. + + +The course of our story will be best pursued by attending that of Simon +Glover. It is not our purpose to indicate the exact local boundaries of +the two contending clans, especially since they are not clearly pointed +out by the historians who have transmitted accounts of this memorable +feud. It is sufficient to say, that the territory of the Clan Chattan +extended far and wide, comprehending Caithness and Sutherland, and +having for their paramount chief the powerful earl of the latter shire, +thence called Mohr ar Chat. In this general sense, the Keiths, the +Sinclairs, the Guns, and other families and clans of great power, were +included in the confederacy. These, however, were not engaged in the +present quarrel, which was limited to that part of the Clan Chattan +occupying the extensive mountainous districts of Perthshire and +Inverness shire, which form a large portion of what is called the +northeastern Highlands. It is well known that two large septs, +unquestionably known to belong to the Clan Chattan, the MacPhersons and +the MacIntoshes, dispute to this day which of their chieftains was at +the head of this Badenoch branch of the great confederacy, and both have +of later times assumed the title of Captain of Clan Chattan. Non nostrum +est. But, at all events, Badenoch must have been the centre of the +confederacy, so far as involved in the feud of which we treat. + +Of the rival league of Clan Quhele we have a still less distinct +account, for reasons which will appear in the sequel. Some authors have +identified them with the numerous and powerful sept of MacKay. If this +is done on good authority, which is to be doubted, the MacKays must have +shifted their settlements greatly since the reign of Robert III, since +they are now to be found (as a clan) in the extreme northern parts of +Scotland, in the counties of Ross and Sutherland. We cannot, therefore, +be so clear as we would wish in the geography of the story. Suffice +it that, directing his course in a northwesterly direction, the glover +travelled for a day’s journey in the direction of the Breadalbane +country, from which he hoped to reach the castle where Gilchrist MacIan, +the captain of the Clan Quhele, and the father of his pupil Conachar, +usually held his residence, with a barbarous pomp of attendance and +ceremonial suited to his lofty pretensions. + +We need not stop to describe the toil and terrors of such a journey, +where the path was to be traced among wastes and mountains, now +ascending precipitous ravines, now plunging into inextricable bogs, +and often intersected with large brooks, and even rivers. But all these +perils Simon Glover had before encountered in quest of honest gain; and +it was not to be supposed that he shunned or feared them where liberty, +and life itself, were at stake. + +The danger from the warlike and uncivilised inhabitants of these wilds +would have appeared to another at least as formidable as the perils of +the journey. But Simon’s knowledge of the manners and language of the +people assured him on this point also. An appeal to the hospitality of +the wildest Gael was never unsuccessful; and the kerne, that in other +circumstances would have taken a man’s life for the silver button of +his cloak, would deprive himself of a meal to relieve the traveller who +implored hospitality at the door of his bothy. The art of travelling in +the Highlands was to appear as confident and defenceless as possible; +and accordingly the glover carried no arms whatever, journeyed without +the least appearance of precaution, and took good care to exhibit +nothing which might excite cupidity. Another rule which he deemed it +prudent to observe was to avoid communication with any of the passengers +whom he might chance to meet, except in the interchange of the common +civilities of salutation, which the Highlanders rarely omit. Few +opportunities occurred of exchanging even such passing greetings. The +country, always lonely, seemed now entirely forsaken; and, even in the +little straths or valleys which he had occasion to pass or traverse, +the hamlets were deserted, and the inhabitants had betaken themselves to +woods and caves. This was easily accounted for, considering the imminent +dangers of a feud which all expected would become one of the most +general signals for plunder and ravage that had ever distracted that +unhappy country. + +Simon began to be alarmed at this state of desolation. He had made a +halt since he left Kinfauns, to allow his nag some rest; and now he +began to be anxious how he was to pass the night. He had reckoned +upon spending it at the cottage of an old acquaintance, called Niel +Booshalloch (or the cow herd), because he had charge of numerous herds +of cattle belonging to the captain of Clan Quhele, for which purpose he +had a settlement on the banks of the Tay, not far from the spot where +it leaves the lake of the same name. From this his old host and friend, +with whom he had transacted many bargains for hides and furs, the old +glover hoped to learn the present state of the country, the prospect of +peace or war, and the best measures to be taken for his own safety. It +will be remembered that the news of the indentures of battle entered +into for diminishing the extent of the feud had only been communicated +to King Robert the day before the glover left Perth, and did not become +public till some time afterwards. + +“If Niel Booshalloch hath left his dwelling like the rest of them, I +shall be finely holped up,” thought Simon, “since I want not only the +advantage of his good advice, but also his interest with Gilchrist +MacIan; and, moreover, a night’s quarters and a supper.” + +Thus reflecting, he reached the top of a swelling green hill, and saw +the splendid vision of Loch Tay lying beneath him--an immense plate of +polished silver, its dark heathy mountains and leafless thickets of oak +serving as an arabesque frame to a magnificent mirror. + +Indifferent to natural beauty at any time, Simon Glover was now +particularly so; and the only part of the splendid landscape on which he +turned his eye was an angle or loop of meadow land where the river Tay, +rushing in full swoln dignity from its parent lake, and wheeling around +a beautiful valley of about a mile in breadth, begins his broad course +to the southeastward, like a conqueror and a legislator, to subdue +and to enrich remote districts. Upon the sequestered spot, which is so +beautifully situated between lake, mountain, and river, arose afterwards +the feudal castle of the Ballough [Balloch is Gaelic for the discharge +of a lake into a river], which in our time has been succeeded by the +splendid palace of the Earls of Breadalbane. + +But the Campbells, though they had already attained very great power +in Argyleshire, had not yet extended themselves so far eastward as Loch +Tay, the banks of which were, either by right or by mere occupancy, +possessed for, the present by the Clan Quhele, whose choicest herds were +fattened on the Balloch margin of the lake. In this valley, therefore, +between the river and the lake, amid extensive forests of oak wood, +hazel, rowan tree, and larches, arose the humble cottage of Niel +Booshalloch, a village Eumaeus, whose hospitable chimneys were seen to +smoke plentifully, to the great encouragement of Simon Glover, who might +otherwise have been obliged to spend the night in the open air, to his +no small discomfort. + +He reached the door of the cottage, whistled, shouted, and made his +approach known. There was a baying of hounds and collies, and presently +the master of the hut came forth. There was much care on his brow, and +he seemed surprised at the sight of Simon Glover, though the herdsman +covered both as well as he might; for nothing in that region could be +reckoned more uncivil than for the landlord to suffer anything to escape +him in look or gesture which might induce the visitor to think that +his arrival was an unpleasing, or even an unexpected, incident. The +traveller’s horse was conducted to a stable, which was almost too low +to receive him, and the glover himself was led into the mansion of the +Booshalloch, where, according to the custom of the country, bread +and cheese was placed before the wayfarer, while more solid food was +preparing. Simon, who understood all their habits, took no notice of the +obvious marks of sadness on the brow of his entertainer and on those of +the family, until he had eaten somewhat for form’s sake, after which he +asked the general question, “Was there any news in the country?” + +“Bad news as ever were told,” said the herdsman: “our father is no +more.” + +“How!” said Simon, greatly alarmed, “is the captain of the Clan Quhele +dead?” + +“The captain of the Clan Quhele never dies,” answered the Booshalloch; +“but Gilchrist MacIan died twenty hours since, and his son, Eachin +MacIan, is now captain.” + +“What, Eachin--that is Conachar--my apprentice?” + +“As little of that subject as you list, brother Simon,” said the +herdsman. “It is to be remembered, friend, that your craft, which doth +very well for a living in the douce city of Perth, is something too +mechanical to be much esteemed at the foot of Ben Lawers and on the +banks of Loch Tay. We have not a Gaelic word by which we can even name a +maker of gloves.” + +“It would be strange if you had, friend Niel,” said Simon, drily, +“having so few gloves to wear. I think there be none in the whole Clan +Quhele, save those which I myself gave to Gilchrist MacIan, whom God +assoilzie, who esteemed them a choice propine. Most deeply do I regret +his death, for I was coming to him on express business.” + +“You had better turn the nag’s head southward with morning light,” said +the herdsman. “The funeral is instantly to take place, and it must be +with short ceremony; for there is a battle to be fought by the Clan +Quhele and the Clan Chattan, thirty champions on a side, as soon as Palm +Sunday next, and we have brief time either to lament the dead or honour +the living.” + +“Yet are my affairs so pressing, that I must needs see the young chief, +were it but for a quarter of an hour,” said the glover. + +“Hark thee, friend,” replied his host, “I think thy business must be +either to gather money or to make traffic. Now, if the chief owe thee +anything for upbringing or otherwise, ask him not to pay it when all the +treasures of the tribe are called in for making gallant preparation of +arms and equipment for their combatants, that we may meet these proud +hill cats in a fashion to show ourselves their superiors. But if thou +comest to practise commerce with us, thy time is still worse chosen. +Thou knowest that thou art already envied of many of our tribe, for +having had the fosterage of the young chief, which is a thing usually +given to the best of the clan.”’ + +“But, St. Mary, man!” exclaimed the glover, “men should remember the +office was not conferred on me as a favour which I courted, but that +it was accepted by me on importunity and entreaty, to my no small +prejudice. This Conachar, or Hector, of yours, or whatever you call him, +has destroyed me doe skins to the amount of many pounds Scots.” + +“There again, now,” said the Booshalloch, “you have spoken word to cost +your life--any allusion to skins or hides, or especially to deer and +does--may incur no less a forfeit. The chief is young, and jealous of +his rank; none knows the reason better than thou, friend Glover. He +will naturally wish that everything concerning the opposition to +his succession, and having reference to his exile, should be totally +forgotten; and he will not hold him in affection who shall recall the +recollection of his people, or force back his own, upon what they must +both remember with pain. Think how, at such a moment, they will look +on the old glover of Perth, to whom the chief was so long apprentice! +Come--come, old friend, you have erred in this. You are in over great +haste to worship the rising sun, while his beams are yet level with the +horizon. Come thou when he has climbed higher in the heavens, and thou +shalt have thy share of the warmth of his noonday height.” + +“Niel Booshalloch,” said the glover, “we have been old friends, as thou +say’st; and as I think thee a true one, I will speak to thee freely, +though what I say might be perilous if spoken to others of thy clan. +Thou think’st I come hither to make my own profit of thy young chief, +and it is natural thou shouldst think so. But I would not, at my years, +quit my own chimney corner in Curfew Street to bask me in the beams of +the brightest sun that ever shone upon Highland heather. The very truth +is, I come hither in extremity: my foes have the advantage of me, and +have laid things to my charge whereof I am incapable, even in thought. +Nevertheless, doom is like to go forth against me, and there is no +remedy but that I must up and fly, or remain and perish. I come to your +young chief, as one who had refuge with me in his distress--who ate of +my bread and drank of my cup. I ask of him refuge, which, as I trust, I +shall need but a short time.” + +“That makes a different case,” replied the herdsman. “So different, +that, if you came at midnight to the gate of MacIan, having the King +of Scotland’s head in your hand, and a thousand men in pursuit for the +avenging of his blood, I could not think it for his honour to refuse you +protection. And for your innocence or guilt, it concerns not the case; +or rather, he ought the more to shelter you if guilty, seeing your +necessity and his risk are both in that case the greater. I must +straightway to him, that no hasty tongue tell him of your arriving +hither without saying the cause.” + +“A pity of your trouble,” said the glover; “but where lies the chief?” + +“He is quartered about ten miles hence, busied with the affairs of the +funeral, and with preparations for the combat--the dead to the grave and +the living to battle.” + +“It is a long way, and will take you all night to go and come,” said the +glover; “and I am very sure that Conachar when he knows it is I who--” + +“Forget Conachar,” said the herdsman, placing his finger on his lips. +“And as for the ten miles, they are but a Highland leap, when one bears +a message between his friend and his chief.” + +So saying, and committing the traveller to the charge of his eldest son +and his daughter, the active herdsman left his house two hours before +midnight, to which he returned long before sunrise. He did not disturb +his wearied guest, but when the old man had arisen in the morning he +acquainted him that the funeral of the late chieftain was to take place +the same day, and that, although Eachin MacIan could not invite a Saxon +to the funeral, he would be glad to receive him at the entertainment +which was to follow. + +“His will must be obeyed,” said the glover, half smiling at the change +of relation between himself and his late apprentice. “The man is +the master now, and I trust he will remember that, when matters were +otherwise between us, I did not use my authority ungraciously.” + +“Troutsho, friend!” exclaimed the Booshalloch, “the less of that you say +the better. You will find yourself a right welcome guest to Eachin, and +the deil a man dares stir you within his bounds. But fare you well, for +I must go, as beseems me, to the burial of the best chief the clan ever +had, and the wisest captain that ever cocked the sweet gale (bog myrtle) +in his bonnet. Farewell to you for a while, and if you will go to the +top of the Tom an Lonach behind the house, you will see a gallant sight, +and hear such a coronach as will reach the top of Ben Lawers. A boat +will wait for you, three hours hence, at a wee bit creek about half a +mile westward from the head of the Tay.” + +With these words he took his departure, followed by his three sons, to +man the boat in which he was to join the rest of the mourners, and two +daughters, whose voices were wanted to join in the lament, which was +chanted, or rather screamed, on such occasions of general affliction. + +Simon Glover, finding himself alone, resorted to the stable to look +after his nag, which, he found, had been well served with graddan, or +bread made of scorched barley. Of this kindness he was fully sensible, +knowing that, probably, the family had little of this delicacy left to +themselves until the next harvest should bring them a scanty supply. In +animal food they were well provided, and the lake found them abundance +of fish for their lenten diet, which they did not observe very strictly; +but bread was a delicacy very scanty in the Highlands. The bogs afforded +a soft species of hay, none of the best to be sure; but Scottish horses, +like their riders, were then accustomed to hard fare. + +Gauntlet, for this was the name of the palfrey, had his stall crammed +full of dried fern for litter, and was otherwise as well provided for as +Highland hospitality could contrive. + +Simon Glover being thus left to his own painful reflections, nothing +better remained, after having seen after the comforts of the dumb +companion of his journey, than to follow the herdsman’s advice; and +ascending towards the top of an eminence called Tom an Lonach, or the +Knoll of Yew Trees, after a walk of half an hour he reached the summit, +and could look down on the broad expanse of the lake, of which the +height commanded a noble view. A few aged and scattered yew trees +of great size still vindicated for the beautiful green hill the name +attached to it. But a far greater number had fallen a sacrifice to +the general demand for bow staves in that warlike age, the bow being a +weapon much used by the mountaineers, though those which they employed, +as well as their arrows, were, in shape and form, and especially in +efficacy, far inferior to the archery of merry England. The dark and +shattered individual yews which remained were like the veterans of a +broken host, occupying in disorder some post of advantage, with the +stern purpose of resisting to the last. Behind this eminence, but +detached from it, arose a higher hill, partly covered with copsewood, +partly opening into glades of pasture, where the cattle strayed, +finding, at this season of the year, a scanty sustenance among the +spring heads and marshy places, where the fresh grass began first to +arise. + +The opposite or northern shore of the lake presented a far more Alpine +prospect than that upon which the glover was stationed. Woods and +thickets ran up the sides of the mountains, and disappeared among the +sinuosities formed by the winding ravines which separated them from each +other; but far above these specimens of a tolerable natural soil arose +the swart and bare mountains themselves, in the dark grey desolation +proper to the season. + +Some were peaked, some broad crested, some rocky and precipitous, others +of a tamer outline; and the clan of Titans seemed to be commanded by +their appropriate chieftains--the frowning mountain of Ben Lawers, and +the still more lofty eminence of Ben Mohr, arising high above the rest, +whose peaks retain a dazzling helmet of snow far into the summer season, +and sometimes during the whole year. Yet the borders of this wild and +silvan region, where the mountains descended upon the lake, intimated, +even at that early period, many traces of human habitation. Hamlets were +seen, especially on the northern margin of the lake, half hid among the +little glens that poured their tributary streams into Loch Tay, which, +like many earthly things, made a fair show at a distance, but, when more +closely approached, were disgustful and repulsive, from their squalid +want of the conveniences which attend even Indian wigwams. They were +inhabited by a race who neither cultivated the earth nor cared for +the enjoyments which industry procures. The women, although otherwise +treated with affection, and even delicacy of respect, discharged all the +absolutely necessary domestic labour. The men, excepting some reluctant +use of an ill formed plough, or more frequently a spade, grudgingly gone +through, as a task infinitely beneath them, took no other employment +than the charge of the herds of black cattle, in which their wealth +consisted. At all other times they hunted, fished, or marauded, during +the brief intervals of peace, by way of pastime; plundering with bolder +license, and fighting with embittered animosity, in time of war, which, +public or private, upon a broader or more restricted scale, formed the +proper business of their lives, and the only one which they esteemed +worthy of them. + +The magnificent bosom of the lake itself was a scene to gaze on with +delight. Its noble breadth, with its termination in a full and beautiful +run, was rendered yet more picturesque by one of those islets which are +often happily situated in the Scottish lakes. The ruins upon that isle, +now almost shapeless, being overgrown with wood rose, at the time we +speak of, into the towers and pinnacles of a priory, where slumbered +the remains of Sibylla, daughter of Henry I of England, and consort +of Alexander the First of Scotland. This holy place had been deemed of +dignity sufficient to be the deposit of the remains of the captain of +the Clan Quhele, at least till times when the removal of the danger, now +so imminently pressing, should permit of his body being conveyed to a +distinguished convent in the north, where he was destined ultimately to +repose with all his ancestry. + +A number of boats pushed off from various points of the near and more +distant shore, many displaying sable banners, and others having their +several pipers in the bow, who from time to time poured forth a few +notes of a shrill, plaintive, and wailing character, and intimated to +the glover that the ceremony was about to take place. These sounds of +lamentation were but the tuning as it were of the instruments, compared +with the general wail which was speedily to be raised. + +A distant sound was heard from far up the lake, even as it seemed from +the remote and distant glens out of which the Dochart and the Lochy pour +their streams into Loch Tay. It was in a wild, inaccessible spot, where +the Campbells at a subsequent period founded their strong fortress of +Finlayrigg, that the redoubted commander of the Clan Quhele drew his +last breath; and, to give due pomp to his funeral, his corpse was now to +be brought down the loch to the island assigned for his temporary place +of rest. The funeral fleet, led by the chieftain’s barge, from which a +huge black banner was displayed, had made more than two thirds of its +voyage ere it was visible from the eminence on which Simon Glover stood +to overlook the ceremony. The instant the distant wail of the coronach +was heard proceeding from the attendants on the funeral barge, all the +subordinate sounds of lamentation were hushed at once, as the raven +ceases to croak and the hawk to whistle whenever the scream of the eagle +is heard. The boats, which had floated hither and thither upon the lake, +like a flock of waterfowl dispersing themselves on its surface, now drew +together with an appearance of order, that the funeral flotilla might +pass onward, and that they themselves might fall into their proper +places. In the mean while the piercing din of the war pipes became +louder and louder, and the cry from the numberless boats which followed +that from which the black banner of the chief was displayed rose in +wild unison up to the Tom an Lonach, from which the glover viewed the +spectacle. The galley which headed the procession bore on its poop a +species of scaffold, upon which, arrayed in white linen, and with the +face bare, was displayed the corpse of the deceased chieftain. His son +and the nearest relatives filled the vessel, while a great number of +boats, of every description that could be assembled, either on Loch +Tay itself or brought by land carriage from Loch Earn and otherwise, +followed in the rear, some of them of very frail materials. There were +even curraghs, composed of ox hides stretched over hoops of willow, +in the manner of the ancient British, and some committed themselves +to rafts formed for the occasion, from the readiest materials that +occurred, and united in such a precarious manner as to render it +probable that, before the accomplishment of the voyage, some of the +clansmen of the deceased might be sent to attend their chieftain in the +world of spirits. + +When the principal flotilla came in sight of the smaller group of boats +collected towards the foot of the lake, and bearing off from the little +island, they hailed each other with a shout so loud and general, and +terminating in a cadence so wildly prolonged, that not only the deer +started from their glens for miles around, and sought the distant +recesses of the mountains, but even the domestic cattle, accustomed to +the voice of man, felt the full panic which the human shout strikes into +the wilder tribes, and like them fled from their pasture into morasses +and dingles. + +Summoned forth from their convent by those sounds, the monks who +inhabited the little islet began to issue from their lowly portal, with +cross and banner, and as much of ecclesiastical state as they had the +means of displaying; their bells at the same time, of which the edifice +possessed three, pealing the death toll over the long lake, which came +to the ears of the now silent multitude, mingled with the solemn chant +of the Catholic Church, raised by the monks in their procession. Various +ceremonies were gone through, while the kindred of the deceased carried +the body ashore, and, placing it on a bank long consecrated to the +purpose, made the deasil around the departed. When the corpse was +uplifted to be borne into the church, another united yell burst from the +assembled multitude, in which the deep shout of warriors and the shrill +wail of females joined their notes with the tremulous voice of age and +the babbling cry of childhood. The coronach was again, and for the last +time, shrieked as the body was carried into the interior of the +church, where only the nearest relatives of the deceased and the most +distinguished of the leaders of the clan were permitted to enter. The +last yell of woe was so terribly loud, and answered by so many hundred +echoes, that the glover instinctively raised his hands to his ears, to +shut out, or deaden at least, a sound so piercing. He kept this attitude +while the hawks, owls, and other birds, scared by the wild scream, had +begun to settle in their retreats, when, as he withdrew his hands, a +voice close by him said: + +“Think you this, Simon Glover, the hymn of penitence and praise with +which it becomes poor forlorn man, cast out from his tenement of clay, +to be wafted into the presence of his maker?” + +The glover turned, and in the old man with a long white beard who stood +close beside him had no difficulty, from the clear mild eye and the +benevolent cast of features, to recognise the Carthusian monk Father +Clement, no longer wearing his monastic habiliments, but wrapped in a +frieze mantle and having a Highland cap on his head. + +It may be recollected that the glover regarded this man with a combined +feeling of respect and dislike--respect, which his judgment could not +deny to the monk’s person and character, and dislike, which arose from +Father Clement’s peculiar doctrines being the cause of his daughter’s +exile and his own distress. It was not, therefore, with sentiments of +unmixed satisfaction that he returned the greetings of the father, and +replied to the reiterated question, what he thought of the funeral rites +which were discharged in so wild a manner: “I know not, my good father; +but these men do their duty to their deceased chief according to the +fashion of their ancestors: they mean to express their regret for their +friend’s loss and their prayers to Heaven in his behalf; and that which +is done of goodwill must, to my thinking, be accepted favourably. Had +it been otherwise, methinks they had ere now been enlightened to do +better.” + +“Thou art deceived,” answered the monk. “God has sent His light amongst +us all, though in various proportions; but man wilfully shuts his eyes +and prefers darkness. This benighted people mingle with the ritual of +the Roman Church the old heathen ceremonies of their own fathers, and +thus unite with the abominations of a church corrupted by wealth and +power the cruel and bloody ritual of savage paynims.” + +“Father,” said Simon, abruptly, “methinks your presence were more +useful in yonder chapel, aiding your brethren in the discharge of their +clerical duties, than in troubling and unsettling the belief of an +humble though ignorant Christian like myself.” + +“And wherefore say, good brother, that I would unfix thy principles of +belief?” answered Clement. “So Heaven deal with me, as, were my life +blood necessary to cement the mind of any man to the holy religion he +professeth, it should be freely poured out for the purpose.” + +“Your speech is fair, father, I grant you,” said the glover; “but if I +am to judge the doctrine by the fruits, Heaven has punished me by the +hand of the church for having hearkened thereto. Ere I heard you, my +confessor was little moved though I might have owned to have told +a merry tale upon the ale bench, even if a friar or a nun were the +subject. If at a time I had called Father Hubert a better hunter of +hares than of souls, I confessed me to the Vicar Vinesauf, who laughed +and made me pay a reckoning for penance; or if I had said that the Vicar +Vinesauf was more constant to his cup than to his breviary, I confessed +me to Father Hubert, and a new hawking glove made all well again; and +thus I, my conscience, and Mother Church lived together on terms of +peace, friendship, and mutual forbearance. But since I have listened to +you, Father Clement, this goodly union is broke to pieces, and nothing +is thundered in my ear but purgatory in the next world and fire and +fagot in this. Therefore, avoid you, Father Clement, or speak to those +who can understand your doctrine. I have no heart to be a martyr: I have +never in my whole life had courage enough so much as to snuff a candle +with my fingers; and, to speak the truth, I am minded to go back to +Perth, sue out my pardon in the spiritual court, carry my fagot to the +gallows foot in token of recantation, and purchase myself once more the +name of a good Catholic, were it at the price of all the worldly wealth +that remains to me.” + +“You are angry, my dearest brother,” said Clement, “and repent you on +the pinch of a little worldly danger and a little worldly loss for the +good thoughts which you once entertained.” + +“You speak at ease, Father Clement, since I think you have long forsworn +the wealth and goods of the world, and are prepared to yield up your +life when it is demanded in exchange for the doctrine you preach and +believe. You are as ready to put on your pitched shirt and brimstone +head gear as a naked man is to go to his bed, and it would seem you have +not much more reluctance to the ceremony. But I still wear that which +clings to me. My wealth is still my own, and I thank Heaven it is a +decent pittance whereon to live; my life, too, is that of a hale old man +of sixty, who is in no haste to bring it to a close; and if I were +poor as Job and on the edge of the grave, must I not still cling to my +daughter, whom your doctrines have already cost so dear?” + +“Thy daughter, friend Simon,” said the Carmelite [Carthusian], “may be +truly called an angel upon earth.” + +“Ay, and by listening to your doctrines, father, she is now like to be +called on to be an angel in heaven, and to be transported thither in a +chariot of fire.” + +“Nay, my good brother,” said Clement, “desist, I pray you, to speak of +what you little understand. Since it is wasting time to show thee the +light that thou chafest against, yet listen to that which I have to say +touching thy daughter, whose temporal felicity, though I weigh it not +even for an instant in the scale against that which is spiritual, is, +nevertheless, in its order, as dear to Clement Blair as to her own +father.” + +The tears stood in the old man’s eyes as he spoke, and Simon Glover was +in some degree mollified as he again addressed him. + +“One would think thee, Father Clement, the kindest and most amiable of +men; how comes it, then, that thy steps are haunted by general ill +will wherever thou chancest to turn them? I could lay my life thou hast +contrived already to offend yonder half score of poor friars in their +water girdled cage, and that you have been prohibited from attendance on +the funeral?” + +“Even so, my son,” said the Carthusian, “and I doubt whether their +malice will suffer me to remain in this country. I did but speak a few +sentences about the superstition and folly of frequenting St. Fillan’s +church, to detect theft by means of his bell, of bathing mad patients in +his pool, to cure their infirmity of mind; and lo! the persecutors have +cast me forth of their communion, as they will speedily cast me out of +this life.” + +“Lo you there now,” said the glover, “see what it is for a man that +cannot take a warning! Well, Father Clement, men will not cast me forth +unless it were as a companion of yours. I pray you, therefore, tell me +what you have to say of my daughter, and let us be less neighbours than +we have been.” + +“This, then, brother Simon, I have to acquaint you with. This young +chief, who is swoln with contemplation of his own power and glory, loves +one thing better than it all, and that is thy daughter.” + +“He, Conachar!” exclaimed Simon. “My runagate apprentice look up to my +daughter!” + +“Alas!” said Clement, “how close sits our worldly pride, even as ivy +clings to the wall, and cannot be separated! Look up to thy daughter, +good Simon? Alas, no! The captain of Clan Quhele, great as he is, and +greater as he soon expects to be, looks down to the daughter of the +Perth burgess, and considers himself demeaned in doing so. But, to use +his own profane expression, Catharine is dearer to him than life here +and Heaven hereafter: he cannot live without her.” + +“Then he may die, if he lists,” said Simon Glover, “for she is betrothed +to an honest burgess of Perth; and I would not break my word to make my +daughter bride to the Prince of Scotland.” + +“I thought it would be your answer,” replied the monk; “I would, worthy +friend, thou couldst carry into thy spiritual concerns some part of that +daring and resolved spirit with which thou canst direct thy temporal +affairs.” + +“Hush thee--hush, Father Clement!” answered the glover; “when thou +fallest into that vein of argument, thy words savour of blazing tar, and +that is a scent I like not. As to Catharine, I must manage as I can, so +as not to displease the young dignitary; but well is it for me that she +is far beyond his reach.” + +“She must then be distant indeed,” said the Carmelite [Carthusian]. +“And now, brother Simon, since you think it perilous to own me and my +opinions, I must walk alone with my own doctrines and the dangers they +draw on me. But should your eye, less blinded than it now is by worldly +hopes and fears, ever turn a glance back on him who soon may be snatched +from you, remember, that by nought save a deep sense of the truth and +importance of the doctrine which he taught could Clement Blair have +learned to encounter, nay, to provoke, the animosity of the powerful and +inveterate, to alarm the fears of the jealous and timid, to walk in the +world as he belonged not to it, and to be accounted mad of men, that he +might, if possible, win souls to God. Heaven be my witness, that I would +comply in all lawful things to conciliate the love and sympathy of my +fellow creatures! It is no light thing to be shunned by the worthy as +an infected patient, to be persecuted by the Pharisees of the day as an +unbelieving heretic, to be regarded with horror at once and contempt by +the multitude, who consider me as a madman, who may be expected to turn +mischievous. But were all those evils multiplied an hundredfold, the +fire within must not be stifled, the voice which says within me ‘Speak’ +must receive obedience. Woe unto me if I preach not the Gospel, even +should I at length preach it from amidst the pile of flames!” + +So spoke this bold witness, one of those whom Heaven raised up from time +to time to preserve amidst the most ignorant ages, and to carry down to +those which succeed them, a manifestation of unadulterated Christianity, +from the time of the Apostles to the age when, favoured by the invention +of printing, the Reformation broke out in full splendour. The selfish +policy of the glover was exposed in his own eyes; and he felt himself +contemptible as he saw the Carthusian turn from him in all the +hallowedness of resignation. He was even conscious of a momentary +inclination to follow the example of the preacher’s philanthropy and +disinterested zeal, but it glanced like a flash of lightning through a +dark vault, where there lies nothing to catch the blaze; and he slowly +descended the hill in a direction different from that of the Carthusian, +forgetting him and his doctrines, and buried in anxious thoughts about +his child’s fate and his own. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + + What want these outlaws conquerors should have + But history’s purchased page to call them great, + A wider space, an ornamented grave? + Their hopes were not less warm, their souls were full as brave. + + BYRON. + + +The funeral obsequies being over, the same flotilla which had proceeded +in solemn and sad array down the lake prepared to return with displayed +banners, and every demonstration of mirth and joy; for there was but +brief time to celebrate festivals when the awful conflict betwixt the +Clan Quhele and their most formidable rivals so nearly approached. It +had been agreed, therefore, that the funeral feast should be blended +with that usually given at the inauguration of the young chief. + +Some objections were made to this arrangement, as containing an evil +omen. But, on the other hand, it had a species of recommendation, from +the habits and feelings of the Highlanders, who, to this day, are wont +to mingle a degree of solemn mirth with their mourning, and something +resembling melancholy with their mirth. The usual aversion to speak +or think of those who have been beloved and lost is less known to this +grave and enthusiastic race than it is to others. You hear not only the +young mention (as is everywhere usual) the merits and the character of +parents, who have, in the course of nature, predeceased them; but the +widowed partner speaks, in ordinary conversation, of the lost spouse, +and, what is still stranger, the parents allude frequently to the beauty +or valour of the child whom they have interred. The Scottish Highlanders +appear to regard the separation of friends by death as something less +absolute and complete than it is generally esteemed in other countries, +and converse of the dear connexions who have sought the grave before +them as if they had gone upon a long journey in which they themselves +must soon follow. The funeral feast, therefore, being a general custom +throughout Scotland, was not, in the opinion of those who were to share +it, unseemingly mingled, on the present occasion, with the festivities +which hailed the succession to the chieftainship. + +The barge which had lately borne the dead to the grave now conveyed +the young MacIan to his new command and the minstrels sent forth their +gayest notes to gratulate Eachin’s succession, as they had lately +sounded their most doleful dirges when carrying Gilchrist to his grave. +From the attendant flotilla rang notes of triumph and jubilee, instead +of those yells of lamentation which had so lately disturbed the echoes +of Loch Tay; and a thousand voices hailed the youthful chieftain as he +stood on the poop, armed at all points, in the flower of early manhood, +beauty, and activity, on the very spot where his father’s corpse had so +lately been extended, and surrounded by triumphant friends, as that had +been by desolate mourners. + +One boat kept closest of the flotilla to the honoured galley. Torquil +of the Oak, a grizzled giant, was steersman; and his eight sons, each +exceeding the ordinary stature of mankind, pulled the oars. Like some +powerful and favourite wolf hound, unloosed from his couples, and +frolicking around a liberal master, the boat of the foster brethren +passed the chieftain’s barge, now on one side and now on another, and +even rowed around it, as if in extravagance of joy; while, at the same +time, with the jealous vigilance of the animal we have compared it to, +they made it dangerous for any other of the flotilla to approach so near +as themselves, from the risk of being run down by their impetuous +and reckless manoeuvres. Raised to an eminent rank in the clan by the +succession of their foster brother to the command of the Clan Quhele, +this was the tumultuous and almost terrible mode in which they testified +their peculiar share in their chief’s triumph. + +Far behind, and with different feelings, on the part of one at least of +the company, came the small boat in which, manned by the Booshalloch and +one of his sons, Simon Glover was a passenger. + +“If we are bound for the head of the lake,” said Simon to his friend, +“we shall hardly be there for hours.” + +But as he spoke the crew of the boat of the foster brethren, or +leichtach, on a signal from the chief’s galley, lay on their oars until +the Booshalloch’s boat came up, and throwing on board a rope of hides, +which Niel made fast to the head of his skiff, they stretched to their +oars once more, and, notwithstanding they had the small boat in tow, +swept through the lake with almost the same rapidity as before. The +skiff was tugged on with a velocity which seemed to hazard the pulling +her under water, or the separation of her head from her other timbers. + +Simon Glover saw with anxiety the reckless fury of their course, and the +bows of the boat occasionally brought within an inch or two of the level +of the water; and though his friend, Niel Booshalloch, assured him it +was all done in especial honour, he heartily wished his voyage might +have a safe termination. It had so, and much sooner than he apprehended; +for the place of festivity was not four miles distant from the +sepulchral island, being chosen to suit the chieftain’s course, which +lay to the southeast, so soon as the banquet should be concluded. A +bay on the southern side of Loch Tay presented a beautiful beach of +sparkling sand, on which the boats might land with ease, and a dry +meadow, covered with turf, verdant considering the season, behind and +around which rose high banks, fringed with copsewood, and displaying the +lavish preparations which had been made for the entertainment. + +The Highlanders, well known for ready hatchet men, had constructed a +long arbour or silvan banqueting room, capable of receiving two hundred +men, while a number of smaller huts around seemed intended for sleeping +apartments. The uprights, the couples, and roof tree of the temporary +hall were composed of mountain pine, still covered with its bark. The +framework of the sides was of planks or spars of the same material, +closely interwoven with the leafy boughs of the fir and other +evergreens, which the neighbouring woods afforded, while the hills had +furnished plenty of heath to form the roof. Within this silvan palace +the most important personages present were invited to hold high +festival. Others of less note were to feast in various long sheds +constructed with less care; and tables of sod, or rough planks, placed +in the open air, were allotted to the numberless multitude. At a +distance were to be seen piles of glowing charcoal or blazing wood, +around which countless cooks toiled, bustled, and fretted, like so many +demons working in their native element. Pits, wrought in the hillside, +and lined with heated stones, served as ovens for stewing immense +quantities of beef, mutton, and venison; wooden spits supported sheep +and goats, which were roasted entire; others were cut into joints, +and seethed in caldrons made of the animal’s own skins, sewed hastily +together and filled with water; while huge quantities of pike, trout, +salmon, and char were broiled with more ceremony on glowing embers. The +glover had seen many a Highland banquet, but never one the preparations +for which were on such a scale of barbarous profusion. + +He had little time, however, to admire the scene around him for, as +soon as they landed on the beach, the Booshalloch observed with some +embarrassment, that, as they had not been bidden to the table of the +dais, to which he seemed to have expected an invitation, they had best +secure a place in one of the inferior bothies or booths; and was leading +the way in that direction, when he was stopped by one of the bodyguards, +seeming to act as master of ceremonies, who whispered something in his +ear. + +“I thought so,” said the herdsman, much relieved--“I thought neither the +stranger nor the man that has my charge would be left out at the high +table.” + +They were conducted accordingly into the ample lodge, within which were +long ranges of tables already mostly occupied by the guests, while those +who acted as domestics were placing upon them the abundant though rude +materials of the festival. The young chief, although he certainly saw +the glover and the herdsman enter, did not address any personal salute +to either, and their places were assigned them in a distant corner, far +beneath the salt, a huge piece of antique silver plate, the only article +of value that the table displayed, and which was regarded by the clan +as a species of palladium, only produced and used on the most solemn +occasions, such as the present. + +The Booshalloch, somewhat discontented, muttered to Simon as he took his +place: “These are changed days, friend. His father, rest his soul, would +have spoken to us both; but these are bad manners which he has learned +among you Sassenachs in the Low Country.” + +To this remark the glover did not think it necessary to reply; instead +of which he adverted to the evergreens, and particularly to the skins +and other ornaments with which the interior of the bower was decorated. +The most remarkable part of these ornaments was a number of Highland +shirts of mail, with steel bonnets, battle axes, and two handed swords +to match, which hung around the upper part of the room, together with +targets highly and richly embossed. Each mail shirt was hung over a well +dressed stag’s hide, which at once displayed the armour to advantage and +saved it from suffering by damp. + +“These,” whispered the Booshalloch, “are the arms of the chosen +champions of the Clan Quhele. They are twenty-nine in number, as you +see, Eachin himself being the thirtieth, who wears his armour today, +else had there been thirty. And he has not got such a good hauberk after +all as he should wear on Palm Sunday. These nine suits of harness, of +such large size, are for the leichtach, from whom so much is expected.” + +“And these goodly deer hides,” said Simon, the spirit of his profession +awakening at the sight of the goods in which he traded--“think you the +chief will be disposed to chaffer for them? They are in demand for the +doublets which knights wear under their armour.” + +“Did I not pray you,” said Niel Booshalloch, “to say nothing on that +subject?” + +“It is the mail shirts I speak of,” said Simon--“may I ask if any of +them were made by our celebrated Perth armourer, called Henry of the +Wynd?” + +“Thou art more unlucky than before,” said Niel, “that man’s name is to +Eachin’s temper like a whirlwind upon the lake; yet no man knows for +what cause.” + +“I can guess,” thought our glover, but gave no utterance to the thought; +and, having twice lighted on unpleasant subjects of conversation, he +prepared to apply himself, like those around him, to his food, without +starting another topic. + +We have said as much of the preparations as may lead the reader to +conclude that the festival, in respect of the quality of the food, was +of the most rude description, consisting chiefly of huge joints of meat, +which were consumed with little respect to the fasting season, although +several of the friars of the island convent graced and hallowed the +board by their presence. The platters were of wood, and so were the +hooped cogues or cups out of which the guests quaffed their liquor, as +also the broth or juice of the meat, which was held a delicacy. There +were also various preparations of milk which were highly esteemed, and +were eaten out of similar vessels. Bread was the scarcest article at the +banquet, but the glover and his patron Niel were served with two small +loaves expressly for their own use. In eating, as, indeed, was then the +case all over Britain, the guests used their knives called skenes, or +the large poniards named dirks, without troubling themselves by the +reflection that they might occasionally have served different or more +fatal purposes. + +At the upper end of the table stood a vacant seat, elevated a step or +two above the floor. It was covered with a canopy of hollow boughs and +ivy, and there rested against it a sheathed sword and a folded banner. +This had been the seat of the deceased chieftain, and was left vacant +in honour of him. Eachin occupied a lower chair on the right hand of the +place of honour. + +The reader would be greatly mistaken who should follow out this +description by supposing that the guests behaved like a herd of hungry +wolves, rushing upon a feast rarely offered to them. On the contrary, +the Clan Quhele conducted themselves with that species of courteous +reserve and attention to the wants of others which is often found in +primitive nations, especially such as are always in arms, because a +general observance of the rules of courtesy is necessary to prevent +quarrels, bloodshed, and death. The guests took the places assigned them +by Torquil of the Oak, who, acting as marischal taeh, i.e. sewer of +the mess, touched with a white wand, without speaking a word, the place +where each was to sit. Thus placed in order, the company patiently +waited for the portion assigned them, which was distributed among them +by the leichtach; the bravest men or more distinguished warriors of +the tribe being accommodated with a double mess, emphatically called +bieyfir, or the portion of a man. When the sewers themselves had seen +every one served, they resumed their places at the festival, and were +each served with one of these larger messes of food. Water was placed +within each man’s reach, and a handful of soft moss served the purposes +of a table napkin, so that, as at an Eastern banquet, the hands were +washed as often as the mess was changed. For amusement, the bard recited +the praises of the deceased chief, and expressed the clan’s confidence +in the blossoming virtues of his successor. The seannachie recited the +genealogy of the tribe, which they traced to the race of the Dalriads; +the harpers played within, while the war pipes cheered the multitude +without. The conversation among the guests was grave, subdued, and +civil; no jest was attempted beyond the bounds of a very gentle +pleasantry, calculated only to excite a passing smile. There were no +raised voices, no contentious arguments; and Simon Glover had heard a +hundred times more noise at a guild feast in Perth than was made on this +occasion by two hundred wild mountaineers. + +Even the liquor itself did not seem to raise the festive party above the +same tone of decorous gravity. It was of various kinds. Wine appeared in +very small quantities, and was served out only to the principal guests, +among which honoured number Simon Glover was again included. The wine +and the two wheaten loaves were indeed the only marks of notice which he +received during the feast; but Niel Booshalloch, jealous of his master’s +reputation for hospitality, failed not to enlarge on them as proofs +of high distinction. Distilled liquors, since so generally used in +the Highlands, were then comparatively unknown. The usquebaugh was +circulated in small quantities, and was highly flavoured with a +decoction of saffron and other herbs, so as to resemble a medicinal +potion rather than a festive cordial. Cider and mead were seen at the +entertainment, but ale, brewed in great quantities for the purpose, and +flowing round without restriction, was the liquor generally used, and +that was drunk with a moderation much less known among the more modern +Highlanders. A cup to the memory of the deceased chieftain was the first +pledge solemnly proclaimed after the banquet was finished, and a low +murmur of benedictions was heard from the company, while the monks +alone, uplifting their united voices, sung Requiem eternam dona. An +unusual silence followed, as if something extraordinary was expected, +when Eachin arose with a bold and manly, yet modest, grace, and ascended +the vacant seat or throne, saying with dignity and firmness: + +“This seat and my father’s inheritance I claim as my right--so prosper +me God and St. Barr!” + +“How will you rule your father’s children?” said an old man, the uncle +of the deceased. + +“I will defend them with my father’s sword, and distribute justice to +them under my father’s banner.” + +The old man, with a trembling hand, unsheathed the ponderous weapon, +and, holding it by the blade, offered the hilt to the young chieftain’s +grasp; at the same time Torquil of the Oak unfurled the pennon of the +tribe, and swung it repeatedly over Eachin’s head, who, with singular +grace and dexterity, brandished the huge claymore as in its defence. +The guests raised a yelling shout to testify their acceptance of the +patriarchal chief who claimed their allegiance, nor was there any who, +in the graceful and agile youth before them, was disposed to recollect +the subject of sinister vaticinations. As he stood in glittering mail, +resting on the long sword, and acknowledging by gracious gestures the +acclamations which rent the air within, without, and around, Simon +Glover was tempted to doubt whether this majestic figure was that of the +same lad whom he had often treated with little ceremony, and began to +have some apprehension of the consequences of having done so. A +general burst of minstrelsy succeeded to the acclamations, and rock and +greenwood rang to harp and pipes, as lately to shout and yell of woe. + +It would be tedious to pursue the progress of the inaugural feast, or +detail the pledges that were quaffed to former heroes of the clan, and +above all to the twenty-nine brave galloglasses who were to fight in the +approaching conflict, under the eye and leading of their young chief. +The bards, assuming in old times the prophetic character combined with +their own, ventured to assure them of the most distinguished victory, +and to predict the fury with which the blue falcon, the emblem of the +Clan Quhele, should rend to pieces the mountain cat, the well known +badge of the Clan Chattan. + +It was approaching sunset when a bowl, called the grace cup, made of +oak, hooped with silver, was handed round the table as the signal of +dispersion, although it was left free to any who chose a longer carouse +to retreat to any of the outer bothies. As for Simon Glover, the +Booshalloch conducted him to a small hut, contrived, it would seem, +for the use of a single individual, where a bed of heath and moss was +arranged as well as the season would permit, and an ample supply of +such delicacies as the late feast afforded showed that all care had been +taken for the inhabitant’s accommodation. + +“Do not leave this hut,” said the Booshalloch, taking leave of his +friend and protege: “this is your place of rest. But apartments are lost +on such a night of confusion, and if the badger leaves his hole the toad +will creep into it.” + +To Simon Glover this arrangement was by no means disagreeable. He had +been wearied by the noise of the day, and felt desirous of repose. After +eating, therefore, a morsel, which his appetite scarce required, and +drinking a cup of wine to expel the cold, he muttered his evening +prayer, wrapt himself in his cloak, and lay down on a couch which old +acquaintance had made familiar and easy to him. The hum and murmur, +and even the occasional shouts, of some of the festive multitude who +continued revelling without did not long interrupt his repose, and in +about ten minutes he was as fast asleep as if he had lain in his own bed +in Curfew Street. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + + Still harping on my daughter. + + Hamlet. + + +Two hours before the black cock crew, Simon Glover was wakened by a well +known voice, which called him by name. + +“What, Conachar!” he replied, as he started from sleep, “is the morning +so far advanced?” and, raising his eyes, the person of whom he was +dreaming stood before him; and at the same moment, the events of +yesterday rushing on his recollection, he saw with surprise that the +vision retained the form which sleep had assigned it, and it was not the +mail clad Highland chief, with claymore in hand, as he had seen him +the preceding night, but Conachar of Curfew Street, in his humble +apprentice’s garb, holding in his hand a switch of oak. An apparition +would not more have surprised our Perth burgher. As he gazed with +wonder, the youth turned upon him a piece of lighted bog wood which he +carried in a lantern, and to his waking exclamation replied: + +“Even so, father Simon: it is Conachar, come to renew our old +acquaintance, when our intercourse will attract least notice.” + +So saying, he sat down on a tressel which answered the purpose of +a chair, and placing the lantern beside him, proceeded in the most +friendly tone: + +“I have tasted of thy good cheer many a day, father Simon; I trust thou +hast found no lack in my family?” + +“None whatever, Eachin MacIan,” answered the glover, for the simplicity +of the Celtic language and manners rejects all honorary titles; “it was +even too good for this fasting season, and much too good for me, since I +must be ashamed to think how hard you fared in Curfew Street.” + +“Even too well, to use your own word,” said Conachar, “for the deserts +of an idle apprentice and for the wants of a young Highlander. But +yesterday, if there was, as I trust, enough of food, found you not, good +glover, some lack of courteous welcome? Excuse it not--I know you did +so. But I am young in authority with my people, and I must not too early +draw their attention to the period of my residence in the Lowlands, +which, however, I can never forget.” + +“I understand the cause entirely,” said Simon; “and therefore it is +unwillingly, and as it were by force, that I have made so early a visit +hither.” + +“Hush, father--hush! It is well you are come to see some of my Highland +splendour while it yet sparkles. Return after Palm Sunday, and who knows +whom or what you may find in the territories we now possess! The +wildcat may have made his lodge where the banqueting bower of MacIan now +stands.” + +The young chief was silent, and pressed the top of the rod to his lips, +as if to guard against uttering more. + +“There is no fear of that, Eachin,” said Simon, in that vague way in +which lukewarm comforters endeavour to turn the reflections of their +friends from the consideration of inevitable danger. + +“There is fear, and there is peril of utter ruin,” answered Eachin, “and +there is positive certainty of great loss. I marvel my father consented +to this wily proposal of Albany. I would MacGillie Chattanach would +agree with me, and then, instead of wasting our best blood against +each other, we would go down together to Strathmore and kill and take +possession. I would rule at Perth and he at Dundee, and all the great +strath should be our own to the banks of the Firth of Tay. Such is the +policy I have caught from your old grey head, father Simon, when holding +a trencher at thy back, and listening to thy evening talk with Bailie +Craigdallie.” + +“The tongue is well called an unruly member,” thought the glover. +“Here have I been holding a candle to the devil, to show him the way to +mischief.” + +But he only said aloud: “These plans come too late.” + +“Too late indeed!” answered Eachin. “The indentures of battle are signed +by our marks and seals, the burning hate of the Clan Quhele and Clan +Chattan is blown up to an inextinguishable flame by mutual insults and +boasts. Yes, the time is passed by. But to thine own affairs, father +Glover. It is religion that has brought thee hither, as I learn from +Niel Booshalloch. Surely, my experience of thy prudence did not lead +me to suspect thee of any quarrel with Mother Church. As for my old +acquaintance, Father Clement, he is one of those who hunt after the +crown of martyrdom, and think a stake, surrounded with blazing fagots, +better worth embracing than a willing bride. He is a very knight errant +in defence of his religious notions, and does battle wherever he comes. +He hath already a quarrel with the monks of Sibyl’s Isle yonder about +some point of doctrine. Hast seen him?” + +“I have,” answered Simon; “but we spoke little together, the time being +pressing.” + +“He may have said that there is a third person--one more likely, I +think, to be a true fugitive for religion than either you, a shrewd +citizen, or he, a wrangling preacher--who would be right heartily +welcome to share our protection? Thou art dull, man, and wilt not guess +my meaning--thy daughter, Catharine.” + +These last words the young chief spoke in English; and he continued the +conversation in that language, as if apprehensive of being overheard, +and, indeed, as if under the sense of some involuntary hesitation. + +“My daughter Catharine,” said the glover, remembering what the +Carthusian had told him, “is well and safe.” + +“But where or with whom?” said the young chief. “And wherefore came she +not with you? Think you the Clan Quhele have no cailliachs as active as +old Dorothy, whose hand has warmed my haffits before now, to wait upon +the daughter of their chieftain’s master?” + +“Again I thank you,” said the glover, “and doubt neither your power nor +your will to protect my daughter, as well as myself. But an honourable +lady, the friend of Sir Patrick Charteris, hath offered her a safe place +of refuge without the risk of a toilsome journey through a desolate and +distracted country.” + +“Oh, ay, Sir Patrick Charteris,” said Eachin, in a more reserved and +distant tone; “he must be preferred to all men, without doubt. He is +your friend, I think?” + +Simon Glover longed to punish this affectation of a boy who had been +scolded four times a day for running into the street to see Sir Patrick +Charteris ride past; but he checked his spirit of repartee, and simply +said: + +“Sir Patrick Charteris has been provost of Perth for seven years, and it +is likely is so still, since the magistrates are elected, not in Lent, +but at St. Martinmas.” + +“Ah, father Glover,” said the youth, in his kinder and more familiar +mode of address, “you are so used to see the sumptuous shows and +pageants of Perth, that you would but little relish our barbarous +festival in comparison. What didst thou think of our ceremonial of +yesterday?” + +“It was noble and touching,” said the glover; “and to me, who knew your +father, most especially so. When you rested on the sword and looked +around you, methought I saw mine old friend Gilchrist MacIan arisen from +the dead and renewed in years and in strength.” + +“I played my part there boldly, I trust; and showed little of that +paltry apprentice boy whom you used to--use just as he deserved?” + +“Eachin resembles Conachar,” said the glover, “no more than a salmon +resembles a gar, though men say they are the same fish in a different +state, or than a butterfly resembles a grub.” + +“Thinkest thou that, while I was taking upon me the power which all +women love, I would have been myself an object for a maiden’s eye to +rest upon? To speak plain, what would Catharine have thought of me in +the ceremonial?” + +“We approach the shallows now,” thought Simon Glover, “and without nice +pilotage we drive right on shore.” + +“Most women like show, Eachin; but I think my daughter Catharine be an +exception. She would rejoice in the good fortune of her household friend +and playmate; but she would not value the splendid MacIan, captain of +Clan Quhele, more than the orphan Conachar.” + +“She is ever generous and disinterested,” replied the young chief. “But +yourself, father, have seen the world for many more years than she has +done, and can better form a judgment what power and wealth do for those +who enjoy them. Think, and speak sincerely, what would be your own +thoughts if you saw your Catharine standing under yonder canopy, with +the command over an hundred hills, and the devoted obedience of ten +thousand vassals; and as the price of these advantages, her hand in that +of the man who loves her the best in the world?” + +“Meaning in your own, Conachar?” said Simon. + +“Ay, Conachar call me: I love the name, since it was by that I have been +known to Catharine.” + +“Sincerely, then,” said the glover, endeavouring to give the least +offensive turn to his reply, “my inmost thought would be the earnest +wish that Catharine and I were safe in our humble booth in Curfew +Street, with Dorothy for our only vassal.” + +“And with poor Conachar also, I trust? You would not leave him to pine +away in solitary grandeur?” + +“I would not,” answered the glover, “wish so ill to the Clan Quhele, +mine ancient friends, as to deprive them, at the moment of emergency, +of a brave young chief, and that chief of the fame which he is about to +acquire at their head in the approaching conflict.” + +Eachin bit his lip to suppress his irritated feelings as he replied: +“Words--words--empty words, father Simon. You fear the Clan Quhele +more than you love them, and you suppose their indignation would be +formidable should their chief marry the daughter of a burgess of Perth.” + +“And if I do fear such an issue, Hector MacIan, have I not reason? How +have ill assorted marriages had issue in the house of MacCallanmore, +in that of the powerful MacLeans--nay, of the Lords of the Isles +themselves? What has ever come of them but divorce and exheredation, +sometimes worse fate, to the ambitious intruder? You could not marry my +child before a priest, and you could only wed her with your left +hand; and I--” he checked the strain of impetuosity which the subject +inspired, and concluded, “and I am an honest though humble burgher of +Perth, who would rather my child were the lawful and undoubted spouse of +a citizen in my own rank than the licensed concubine of a monarch.” + +“I will wed Catharine before the priest and before the world, before +the altar and before the black stones of Iona,” said the impetuous young +man. “She is the love of my youth, and there is not a tie in religion or +honour but I will bind myself by them! I have sounded my people. If +we do but win this combat--and, with the hope of gaining Catharine, we +SHALL win it--my heart tells me so--I shall be so much lord over their +affections that, were I to take a bride from the almshouse, so it was +my pleasure, they would hail her as if she were a daughter of +MacCallanmore. But you reject my suit?” said Eachin, sternly. + +“You put words of offence in my mouth,” said the old man, “and may next +punish me for them, since I am wholly in your power. But with my consent +my daughter shall never wed save in her own degree. Her heart would +break amid the constant wars and scenes of bloodshed which connect +themselves with your lot. If you really love her, and recollect her +dread of strife and combat, you would not wish her to be subjected to +the train of military horrors in which you, like your father, must +needs be inevitably and eternally engaged. Choose a bride amongst the +daughters of the mountain chiefs, my son, or fiery Lowland nobles. You +are fair, young, rich, high born, and powerful, and will not woo in +vain. You will readily find one who will rejoice in your conquests, and +cheer you under defeat. To Catharine, the one would be as frightful +as the other. A warrior must wear a steel gauntlet: a glove of kidskin +would be torn to pieces in an hour.” + +A dark cloud passed over the face of the young chief, lately animated +with so much fire. + +“Farewell,” he said, “the only hope which could have lighted me to fame +or victory!” + +He remained for a space silent, and intensely thoughtful, with downcast +eyes, a lowering brow, and folded arms. At length he raised his hands, +and said: “Father,--for such you have been to me--I am about to tell you +a secret. Reason and pride both advise me to be silent, but fate urges +me, and must be obeyed. I am about to lodge in you the deepest and +dearest secret that man ever confided to man. But beware--end this +conference how it will--beware how you ever breathe a syllable of what +I am now to trust to you; for know that, were you to do so in the most +remote corner of Scotland, I have ears to hear it even there, and a +hand and poniard to reach a traitor’s bosom. I am--but the word will not +out!” + +“Do not speak it then,” said the prudent glover: “a secret is no longer +safe when it crosses the lips of him who owns it, and I desire not a +confidence so dangerous as you menace me with.” + +“Ay, but I must speak, and you must hear,” said the youth. “In this age +of battle, father, you have yourself been a combatant?” + +“Once only,” replied Simon, “when the Southron assaulted the Fair City. +I was summoned to take my part in the defence, as my tenure required, +like that of other craftsmen, who are bound to keep watch and ward.” + +“And how felt you upon that matter?” inquired the young chief. + +“What can that import to the present business?” said Simon, in some +surprise. + +“Much, else I had not asked the question,” answered. Eachin, in the tone +of haughtiness which from time to time he assumed. + +“An old man is easily brought to speak of olden times,” said Simon, not +unwilling, on an instant’s reflection, to lead the conversation away +from the subject of his daughter, “and I must needs confess my feelings +were much short of the high, cheerful confidence, nay, the pleasure, +with which I have seen other men go to battle. My life and profession +were peaceful, and though I have not wanted the spirit of a man, when +the time demanded it, yet I have seldom slept worse than the night +before that onslaught. My ideas were harrowed by the tales we were +told--nothing short of the truth--about the Saxon archers: how they drew +shafts of a cloth yard length, and used bows a third longer than ours. +When I fell into a broken slumber, if but a straw in the mattress +pricked my side I started and waked, thinking an English arrow was +quivering in my body. In the morning, as I began for very weariness to +sink into some repose, I was waked by the tolling of the common bell, +which called us burghers to the walls; I never heard its sound peal so +like a passing knell before or since.” + +“Go on--what further chanced?” demanded Eachin. + +“I did on my harness,” said Simon, “such as it was; took my mother’s +blessing, a high spirited woman, who spoke of my father’s actions for +the honour of the Fair Town. This heartened me, and I felt still bolder +when I found myself ranked among the other crafts, all bowmen, for thou +knowest the Perth citizens have good skill in archery. We were dispersed +on the walls, several knights and squires in armour of proof being +mingled amongst us, who kept a bold countenance, confident perhaps in +their harness, and informed us, for our encouragement, that they would +cut down with their swords and axes any of those who should attempt to +quit their post. I was kindly assured of this myself by the old Kempe +of Kinfauns, as he was called, this good Sir Patrick’s father, then our +provost. He was a grandson of the Red Rover, Tom of Longueville, and +a likely man to keep his word, which he addressed to me in especial, +because a night of much discomfort may have made me look paler than +usual; and, besides, I was but a lad.” + +“And did his exhortation add to your fear or your resolution?” said +Eachin, who seemed very attentive. + +“To my resolution,” answered Simon; “for I think nothing can make a +man so bold to face one danger at some distance in his front as the +knowledge of another close behind him, to push him forward. Well, I +mounted the walls in tolerable heart, and was placed with others on the +Spey Tower, being accounted a good bowman. But a very cold fit seized me +as I saw the English, in great order, with their archers in front, +and their men at arms behind, marching forward to the attack in strong +columns, three in number. They came on steadily, and some of us would +fain have shot at them; but it was strictly forbidden, and we were +obliged to remain motionless, sheltering ourselves behind the battlement +as we best might. As the Southron formed their long ranks into lines, +each man occupying his place as by magic, and preparing to cover +themselves by large shields, called pavesses, which they planted before +them, I again felt a strange breathlessness, and some desire to go home +for a glass of distilled waters. But as I looked aside, I saw the worthy +Kempe of Kinfauns bending a large crossbow, and I thought it pity he +should waste the bolt on a true hearted Scotsman, when so many English +were in presence; so I e’en staid where I was, being in a comfortable +angle, formed by two battlements. The English then strode forward, and +drew their bowstrings--not to the breast, as your Highland kerne do, but +to the ear--and sent off their volleys of swallow tails before we could +call on St. Andrew. I winked when I saw them haul up their tackle, and I +believe I started as the shafts began to rattle against the parapet. +But looking round me, and seeing none hurt but John Squallit, the town +crier, whose jaws were pierced through with a cloth yard shaft, I took +heart of grace, and shot in my turn with good will and good aim. A +little man I shot at, who had just peeped out from behind his target, +dropt with a shaft through his shoulder. The provost cried, ‘Well +stitched, Simon Glover!’ ‘St. John, for his own town, my fellow +craftsmen!’ shouted I, though I was then but an apprentice. And if you +will believe me, in the rest of the skirmish, which was ended by the +foes drawing off, I drew bowstring and loosed shaft as calmly as if +I had been shooting at butts instead of men’s breasts. I gained +some credit, and I have ever afterwards thought that, in case of +necessity--for with me it had never been matter of choice--I should not +have lost it again. And this is all I can tell of warlike experience in +battle. Other dangers I have had, which I have endeavoured to avoid like +a wise man, or, when they were inevitable, I have faced them like a +true one. Upon other terms a man cannot live or hold up his head in +Scotland.” + +“I understand your tale,” said Eachin; “but I shall find it difficult +to make you credit mine, knowing the race of which I am descended, and +especially that I am the son of him whom we have this day laid in the +tomb--well that he lies where he will never learn what you are now to +hear! Look, my father, the light which I bear grows short and pale, a +few minutes will extinguish it; but before it expires, the hideous tale +will be told. Father, I am--a COWARD! It is said at last, and the secret +of my disgrace is in keeping of another!” + +The young man sunk back in a species of syncope, produced by the agony +of his mind as he made the fatal communication. The glover, moved as +well by fear as by compassion, applied himself to recall him to life, +and succeeded in doing so, but not in restoring him to composure. He hid +his face with his hands, and his tears flowed plentifully and bitterly. + +“For Our Lady’s sake, be composed,” said the old man, “and recall the +vile word! I know you better than yourself: you are no coward, but only +too young and inexperienced, ay, and somewhat too quick of fancy, to +have the steady valour of a bearded man. I would hear no other man say +that of you, Conachar, without giving him the lie. You are no coward: +I have seen high sparks of spirit fly from you even on slight enough +provocation.” + +“High sparks of pride and passion!” said the unfortunate youth; “but +when saw you them supported by the resolution that should have backed +them? The sparks you speak of fell on my dastardly heart as on a piece +of ice which could catch fire from nothing: if my offended pride urged +me to strike, my weakness of mind prompted me the next moment to fly.” + +“Want of habit,” said Simon; “it is by clambering over walls that youths +learn to scale precipices. Begin with slight feuds; exercise daily the +arms of your country in tourney with your followers.” + +“And what leisure is there for this?” exclaimed the young chief, +starting as if something horrid had occurred to his imagination. “How +many days are there betwixt this hour and Palm Sunday, and what is to +chance then? A list inclosed, from which no man can stir, more than the +poor bear who is chained to his stake. Sixty living men, the best +and fiercest--one alone excepted!--which Albyn can send down from her +mountains, all athirst for each other’s blood, while a king and his +nobles, and shouting thousands besides, attend, as at a theatre, to +encourage their demoniac fury! Blows clang and blood flows, thicker, +faster, redder; they rush on each other like madmen, they tear each +other like wild beasts; the wounded are trodden to death amid the feet +of their companions! Blood ebbs, arms become weak; but there must be +no parley, no truce, no interruption, while any of the maimed wretches +remain alive! Here is no crouching behind battlements, no fighting with +missile weapons: all is hand to hand, till hands can no longer be raised +to maintain the ghastly conflict! If such a field is so horrible in +idea, what think you it will be in reality?” + +The glover remained silent. + +“I say again, what think you?” + +“I can only pity you, Conachar,” said Simon. “It is hard to be the +descendant of a lofty line--the son of a noble father--the leader by +birth of a gallant array, and yet to want, or think you want, for +still I trust the fault lies much in a quick fancy, that over estimates +danger--to want that dogged quality which is possessed by every game +cock that is worth a handful of corn, every hound that is worth a +mess of offal. But how chanced it that, with such a consciousness of +inability to fight in this battle, you proffered even now to share your +chiefdom with my daughter? Your power must depend on your fighting this +combat, and in that Catharine cannot help you.” + +“You mistake, old man,” replied Eachin: “were Catharine to look kindly +on the earnest love I bear her, it would carry me against the front of +the enemies with the mettle of a war horse. Overwhelming as my sense +of weakness is, the feeling that Catharine looked on would give me +strength. Say yet--oh, say yet--she shall be mine if we gain the combat, +and not the Gow Chrom himself, whose heart is of a piece with his +anvil, ever went to battle so light as I shall do! One strong passion is +conquered by another.” + +“This is folly, Conachar. Cannot the recollection of your interest, your +honour, your kindred, do as much to stir your courage as the thoughts of +a brent browed lass? Fie upon you, man!” + +“You tell me but what I have told myself, but it is in vain,” replied +Eachin, with a sigh. “It is only whilst the timid stag is paired with +the doe that he is desperate and dangerous. Be it from constitution; be +it, as our Highland cailliachs will say, from the milk of the white +doe; be it from my peaceful education and the experience of your strict +restraint; be it, as you think, from an overheated fancy, which paints +danger yet more dangerous and ghastly than it is in reality, I cannot +tell. But I know my failing, and--yes, it must be said!--so sorely dread +that I cannot conquer it, that, could I have your consent to my wishes +on such terms, I would even here make a pause, renounce the rank I have +assumed, and retire into humble life.” + +“What, turn glover at last, Conachar?” said Simon. “This beats the +legend of St. Crispin. Nay--nay, your hand was not framed for that: you +shall spoil me no more doe skins.” + +“Jest not,” said Eachin, “I am serious. If I cannot labour, I will bring +wealth enough to live without it. They will proclaim me recreant with +horn and war pipe. Let them do so. Catharine will love me the better +that I have preferred the paths of peace to those of bloodshed, and +Father Clement shall teach us to pity and forgive the world, which will +load us with reproaches that wound not. I shall be the happiest of men; +Catharine will enjoy all that unbounded affection can confer upon her, +and will be freed from apprehension of the sights and sounds of horror +which your ill assorted match would have prepared for her; and you, +father Glover, shall occupy your chimney corner, the happiest and most +honoured man that ever--” + +“Hold, Eachin--I prithee, hold,” said the glover; “the fir light, with +which this discourse must terminate, burns very low, and I would speak +a word in my turn, and plain dealing is best. Though it may vex, +or perhaps enrage, you, let me end these visions by saying at once: +Catharine can never be yours. A glove is the emblem of faith, and a +man of my craft should therefore less than any other break his own. +Catharine’s hand is promised--promised to a man whom you may hate, but +whom you must honour--to Henry the armourer. The match is fitting by +degree, agreeable to their mutual wishes, and I have given my promise. +It is best to be plain at once; resent my refusal as you will--I am +wholly in your power. But nothing shall make me break my word.” + +The glover spoke thus decidedly, because he was aware from experience +that the very irritable disposition of his former apprentice yielded in +most cases to stern and decided resolution. Yet, recollecting where he +was, it was with some feelings of fear that he saw the dying flame leap +up and spread a flash of light on the visage of Eachin, which seemed +pale as the grave, while his eye rolled like that of a maniac in his +fever fit. The light instantly sunk down and died, and Simon felt a +momentary terror lest he should have to dispute for his life with +the youth, whom he knew to be capable of violent actions when highly +excited, however short a period his nature could support the measures +which his passion commenced. He was relieved by the voice of Eachin, who +muttered in a hoarse and altered tone: + +“Let what we have spoken this night rest in silence for ever. If thou +bring’st it to light, thou wert better dig thine own grave.” + +Thus speaking, the door of the hut opened, admitting a gleam of +moonshine. The form of the retiring chief crossed it for an instant, the +hurdle was then closed, and the shieling left in darkness. + +Simon Glover felt relieved when a conversation fraught with offence and +danger was thus peaceably terminated. But he remained deeply affected by +the condition of Hector MacIan, whom he had himself bred up. + +“The poor child,” said he, “to be called up to a place of eminence, +only to be hurled from it with contempt! What he told me I partly knew, +having often remarked that Conachar was more prone to quarrel than to +fight. But this overpowering faint heartedness, which neither shame +nor necessity can overcome, I, though no Sir William Wallace, cannot +conceive. And to propose himself for a husband to my daughter, as if +a bride were to find courage for herself and the bridegroom! No--no, +Catharine must wed a man to whom she may say, ‘Husband, spare your +enemy’--not one in whose behalf she must cry, ‘Generous enemy, spare my +husband!” + +Tired out with these reflections, the old man at length fell asleep. +In the morning he was awakened by his friend the Booshalloch, who, with +something of a blank visage, proposed to him to return to his abode on +the meadow at the Ballough. He apologised that the chief could not see +Simon Glover that morning, being busied with things about the expected +combat; and that Eachin MacIan thought the residence at the Ballough +would be safest for Simon Glover’s health, and had given charge that +every care should be taken for his protection and accommodation. + +Niel Booshalloch dilated on these circumstances, to gloss over the +neglect implied in the chief’s dismissing his visitor without a +particular audience. + +“His father knew better,” said the herdsman. “But where should he have +learned manners, poor thing, and bred up among your Perth burghers, who, +excepting yourself, neighbour Glover, who speak Gaelic as well as I do, +are a race incapable of civility?” + +Simon Glover, it may be well believed, felt none of the want of respect +which his friend resented on his account. On the contrary, he greatly +preferred the quiet residence of the good herdsman to the tumultuous +hospitality of the daily festival of the chief, even if there had not +just passed an interview with Eachin upon a subject which it would be +most painful to revive. + +To the Ballough, therefore, he quietly retreated, where, could he have +been secure of Catharine’s safety, his leisure was spent pleasantly +enough. His amusement was sailing on the lake in a little skiff, which a +Highland boy managed, while the old man angled. He frequently landed +on the little island, where he mused over the tomb of his old friend +Gilchrist MacIan, and made friends with the monks, presenting the prior +with gloves of martens’ fur, and the superior officers with each of them +a pair made from the skin of the wildcat. The cutting and stitching of +these little presents served to beguile the time after sunset, while +the family of the herdsman crowded around, admiring his address, and +listening to the tales and songs with which the old man had skill to +pass away a heavy evening. + +It must be confessed that the cautious glover avoided the conversation +of Father Clement, whom he erroneously considered as rather the author +of his misfortunes than the guiltless sharer of them. “I will not,” he +thought, “to please his fancies, lose the goodwill of these kind +monks, which may be one day useful to me. I have suffered enough by his +preachments already, I trow. Little the wiser and much the poorer they +have made me. No--no, Catharine and Clement may think as they will; but +I will take the first opportunity to sneak back like a rated hound at +the call of his master, submit to a plentiful course of haircloth and +whipcord, disburse a lusty mulct, and become whole with the church +again.” + +More than a fortnight had passed since the glover had arrived at +Ballough, and he began to wonder that he had not heard news of Catharine +or of Henry Wynd, to whom he concluded the provost had communicated the +plan and place of his retreat. He knew the stout smith dared not come +up into the Clan Quhele country, on account of various feuds with +the inhabitants, and with Eachin himself, while bearing the name of +Conachar; but yet the glover thought Henry might have found means to +send him a message, or a token, by some one of the various couriers who +passed and repassed between the court and the headquarters of the Clan +Quhele, in order to concert the terms of the impending combat, the +march of the parties to Perth, and other particulars requiring previous +adjustment. It was now the middle of March, and the fatal Palm Sunday +was fast approaching. + +Whilst time was thus creeping on, the exiled glover had not even once +set eyes upon his former apprentice. The care that was taken to attend +to his wants and convenience in every respect showed that he was not +forgotten; but yet, when he heard the chieftain’s horn ringing through +the woods, he usually made it a point to choose his walk in a different +direction. One morning, however, he found himself unexpectedly in +Eachin’s close neighbourhood, with scarce leisure to avoid him, and thus +it happened. + +As Simon strolled pensively through a little silvan glade, surrounded +on either side with tall forest trees, mixed with underwood, a white doe +broke from the thicket, closely pursued by two deer greyhounds, one +of which griped her haunch, the other her throat, and pulled her down +within half a furlong of the glover, who was something startled at the +suddenness of the incident. The ear and piercing blast of a horn, and +the baying of a slow hound, made Simon aware that the hunters were close +behind, and on the trace of the deer. Hallooing and the sound of +men running through the copse were heard close at hand. A moment’s +recollection would have satisfied Simon that his best way was to stand +fast, or retire slowly, and leave it to Eachin to acknowledge his +presence or not, as he should see cause. But his desire of shunning the +young man had grown into a kind of instinct, and in the alarm of finding +him so near, Simon hid himself in a bush of hazels mixed with holly, +which altogether concealed him. He had hardly done so ere Eachin, rosy +with exercise, dashed from the thicket into the open glade, accompanied +by his foster father, Torquil of the Oak. The latter, with equal +strength and address, turned the struggling hind on her back, and +holding her forefeet in his right hand, while he knelt on her body, +offered his skene with the left to the young chief, that he might cut +the animal’s throat. + +“It may not be, Torquil; do thine office, and take the assay thyself. I +must not kill the likeness of my foster--” + +This was spoken with a melancholy smile, while a tear at the same time +stood in the speaker’s eye. Torquil stared at his young chief for an +instant, then drew his sharp wood knife across the creature’s throat +with a cut so swift and steady that the weapon reached the backbone. +Then rising on his feet, and again fixing a long piercing look on his +chief, he said: “As much as I have done to that hind would I do to any +living man whose ears could have heard my dault (foster son) so much as +name a white doe, and couple the word with Hector’s name!” + +If Simon had no reason before to keep himself concealed, this speech of +Torquil furnished him with a pressing one. + +“It cannot be concealed, father Torquil,” said Eachin: “it will all out +to the broad day.” + +“What will out? what will to broad day?” asked Torquil in surprise. + +“It is the fatal secret,” thought Simon; “and now, if this huge privy +councillor cannot keep silence, I shall be made answerable, I suppose, +for Eachin’s disgrace having been blown abroad.” + +Thinking thus anxiously, he availed himself at the same time of his +position to see as much as he could of what passed between the afflicted +chieftain and his confidant, impelled by that spirit of curiosity which +prompts us in the most momentous, as well as the most trivial, occasions +of life, and which is sometimes found to exist in company with great +personal fear. + +As Torquil listened to what Eachin communicated, the young man sank +into his arms, and, supporting himself on his shoulder, concluded his +confession by a whisper into his ear. Torquil seemed to listen with such +amazement as to make him incapable of crediting his ears. As if to be +certain that it was Eachin who spoke, he gradually roused the youth from +his reclining posture, and, holding him up in some measure by a grasp on +his shoulder, fixed on him an eye that seemed enlarged, and at the same +time turned to stone, by the marvels he listened to. And so wild waxed +the old man’s visage after he had heard the murmured communication, +that Simon Glover apprehended he would cast the youth from him as a +dishonoured thing, in which case he might have lighted among the very +copse in which he lay concealed, and occasioned his discovery in a +manner equally painful and dangerous. But the passions of Torquil, +who entertained for his foster child even a double portion of that +passionate fondness which always attends that connexion in the Highlands +took a different turn. + +“I believe it not,” he exclaimed; “it is false of thy father’s child, +false of thy mother’s son, falsest of my dault! I offer my gage to +heaven and hell, and will maintain the combat with him that shall call +it true. Thou hast been spellbound by an evil eye, my darling, and the +fainting which you call cowardice is the work of magic. I remember the +bat that struck the torch out on the hour that thou wert born--that hour +of grief and of joy. Cheer up, my beloved. Thou shalt with me to Iona, +and the good St. Columbus, with the whole choir of blessed saints and +angels, who ever favoured thy race, shall take from thee the heart of +the white doe and return that which they have stolen from thee.” + +Eachin listened, with a look as if he would fain have believed the words +of the comforter. + +“But, Torquil,” he said, “supposing this might avail us, the fatal day +approaches, and if I go to the lists, I dread me we shall be shamed.” + +“It cannot be--it shall not!” said Torquil. “Hell shall not prevail so +far: we will steep thy sword in holy water, place vervain, St. John’s +Wort, and rowan tree in thy crest. We will surround thee, I and thy +eight brethren: thou shalt be safe as in a castle.” + +Again the youth helplessly uttered something, which, from the dejected +tone in which it was spoken, Simon could not understand, while Torquil’s +deep tones in reply fell full and distinct upon his ear. + +“Yes, there may be a chance of withdrawing thee from the conflict. Thou +art the youngest who is to draw blade. Now, hear me, and thou shalt know +what it is to have a foster father’s love, and how far it exceeds the +love even of kinsmen. The youngest on the indenture of the Clan Chattan +is Ferquhard Day. His father slew mine, and the red blood is seething +hot between us; I looked to Palm Sunday as the term that should cool it. +But mark! Thou wouldst have thought that the blood in the veins of this +Ferquhard Day and in mine would not have mingled had they been put into +the same vessel, yet hath he cast the eyes of his love upon my only +daughter Eva, the fairest of our maidens. Think with what feelings I +heard the news. It was as if a wolf from the skirts of Farragon had +said, ‘Give me thy child in wedlock, Torquil.’ My child thought not +thus: she loves Ferquhard, and weeps away her colour and strength in +dread of the approaching battle. Let her give him but a sign of favour, +and well I know he will forget kith and kin, forsake the field, and fly +with her to the desert.” + +“He, the youngest of the champions of Clan Chattan, being absent, I, the +youngest of the Clan Quhele, may be excused from combat” said Eachin, +blushing at the mean chance of safety thus opened to him. + +“See now, my chief;” said Torquil, “and judge my thoughts towards +thee: others might give thee their own lives and that of their sons--I +sacrifice to thee the honour of my house.” + +“My friend--my father,” repeated the chief, folding Torquil to his +bosom, “what a base wretch am I that have a spirit dastardly enough to +avail myself of your sacrifice!” + +“Speak not of that. Green woods have ears. Let us back to the camp, and +send our gillies for the venison. Back, dogs, and follow at heel.” + +The slowhound, or lyme dog, luckily for Simon, had drenched his nose in +the blood of the deer, else he might have found the glover’s lair in the +thicket; but its more acute properties of scent being lost, it followed +tranquilly with the gazehounds. + +When the hunters were out of sight and hearing, the glover arose, +greatly relieved by their departure, and began to move off in the +opposite direction as fast as his age permitted. His first reflection +was on the fidelity of the foster father. + +“The wild mountain heart is faithful and true. Yonder man is more like +the giants in romaunts than a man of mould like ourselves; and yet +Christians might take an example from him for his lealty. A simple +contrivance this, though, to finger a man from off their enemies’ +chequer, as if there would not be twenty of the wildcats ready to supply +his place.” + +Thus thought the glover, not aware that the strictest proclamations +were issued, prohibiting any of the two contending clans, their friends, +allies, and dependants, from coming within fifty miles of Perth, during +a week before and a week after the combat, which regulation was to be +enforced by armed men. + +So soon as our friend Simon arrived at the habitation of the herdsman, +he found other news awaiting him. They were brought by Father Clement, +who came in a pilgrim’s cloak, or dalmatic, ready to commence his return +to the southward, and desirous to take leave of his companion in exile, +or to accept him as a travelling companion. + +“But what,” said the citizen, “has so suddenly induced you to return +within the reach of danger?” + +“Have you not heard,” said Father Clement, “that, March and his English +allies having retired into England before the Earl of Douglas, the good +earl has applied himself to redress the evils of the commonwealth, and +hath written to the court letters desiring that the warrant for the High +Court of Commission against heresy be withdrawn, as a trouble to men’s +consciences, that the nomination of Henry of Wardlaw to be prelate of +St. Andrews be referred to the Parliament, with sundry other things +pleasing to the Commons? Now, most of the nobles that are with the King +at Perth, and with them Sir Patrick Charteris, your worthy provost, have +declared for the proposals of the Douglas. The Duke of Albany had agreed +to them--whether from goodwill or policy I know not. The good King is +easily persuaded to mild and gentle courses. And thus are the jaw +teeth of the oppressors dashed to pieces in their sockets, and the prey +snatched from their ravening talons. Will you with me to the Lowlands, +or do you abide here a little space?” + +Neil Booshalloch saved his friend the trouble of reply. + +“He had the chief’s authority,” he said, “for saying that Simon Glover +should abide until the champions went down to the battle.” + +In this answer the citizen saw something not quite consistent with his +own perfect freedom of volition; but he cared little for it at the +time, as it furnished a good apology for not travelling along with the +clergyman. + +“An exemplary man,” he said to his friend Niel Booshalloch, as soon as +Father Clement had taken leave--“a great scholar and a great saint. It +is a pity almost he is no longer in danger to be burned, as his sermon +at the stake would convert thousands. O Niel Booshalloch, Father +Clement’s pile would be a sweet savouring sacrifice and a beacon to +all decent Christians! But what would the burning of a borrel ignorant +burgess like me serve? Men offer not up old glove leather for incense, +nor are beacons fed with undressed hides, I trow. Sooth to speak, I have +too little learning and too much fear to get credit by the affair, and, +therefore, I should, in our homely phrase, have both the scathe and the +scorn.” + +“True for you,” answered the herdsman. + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + + + We must return to the characters of our dramatic narrative whom we + left at Perth, when we accompanied the glover and his fair daughter + to Kinfauns, and from that hospitable mansion traced the course of + Simon to Loch Tay; and the Prince, as the highest personage, claims + our immediate attention. + +This rash and inconsiderate young man endured with some impatience his +sequestered residence with the Lord High Constable, with whose company, +otherwise in every respect satisfactory, he became dissatisfied, from +no other reason than that he held in some degree the character of his +warder. Incensed against his uncle and displeased with his father, he +longed, not unnaturally, for the society of Sir John Ramorny, on whom he +had been so long accustomed to throw himself for amusement, and, though +he would have resented the imputation as an insult, for guidance and +direction. He therefore sent him a summons to attend him, providing his +health permitted; and directed him to come by water to a little pavilion +in the High Constable’s garden, which, like that of Sir John’s own +lodgings, ran down to the Tay. In renewing an intimacy so dangerous, +Rothsay only remembered that he had been Sir Join Ramorny’s munificent +friend; while Sir John, on receiving the invitation, only recollected, +on his part, the capricious insults he had sustained from his patron, +the loss of his hand, and the lightness with which he had treated the +subject, and the readiness with which Rothsay had abandoned his cause in +the matter of the bonnet maker’s slaughter. He laughed bitterly when he +read the Prince’s billet. + +“Eviot,” he said, “man a stout boat with six trusty men--trusty men, +mark me--lose not a moment, and bid Dwining instantly come hither. + +“Heaven smiles on us, my trusty friend,” he said to the mediciner. “I +was but beating my brains how to get access to this fickle boy, and here +he sends to invite me.” + +“Hem! I see the matter very clearly,” said Dwining. “Heaven smiles on +some untoward consequences--he! he! he!” + +“No matter, the trap is ready; and it is baited, too, my friend, with +what would lure the boy from a sanctuary, though a troop with drawn +weapons waited him in the churchyard. Yet is it scarce necessary. +His own weariness of himself would have done the job. Get thy matters +ready--thou goest with us. Write to him, as I cannot, that we come +instantly to attend his commands, and do it clerkly. He reads well, and +that he owes to me.” + +“He will be your valiancie’s debtor for more knowledge before he +dies--he! he! he! But is your bargain sure with the Duke of Albany?” + +“Enough to gratify my ambition, thy avarice, and the revenge of both. +Aboard--aboard, and speedily; let Eviot throw in a few flasks of the +choicest wine, and some cold baked meats.” + +“But your arm, my lord, Sir John? Does it not pain you?” + +“The throbbing of my heart silences the pain of my wound. It beats as it +would burst my bosom.” + +“Heaven forbid!” said Dwining; adding, in a low voice--“It would be a +strange sight if it should. I should like to dissect it, save that its +stony case would spoil my best instruments.” + +In a few minutes they were in the boat, while a speedy messenger carried +the note to the Prince. + +Rothsay was seated with the Constable, after their noontide repast. He +was sullen and silent; and the earl had just asked whether it was his +pleasure that the table should be cleared, when a note, delivered to the +Prince, changed at once his aspect. + +“As you will,” he said. “I go to the pavilion in the garden--always +with permission of my Lord Constable--to receive my late master of the +horse.” + +“My lord!” said Lord Errol. + +“Ay, my lord; must I ask permission twice?” + +“No, surely, my lord,” answered the Constable; “but has your Royal +Highness recollected that Sir John Ramorny--” + +“Has not the plague, I hope?” replied the Duke of Rothsay. “Come, Errol, +you would play the surly turnkey, but it is not in your nature; farewell +for half an hour.” + +“A new folly!” said Errol, as the Prince, flinging open a lattice of +the ground parlour in which they sat, stept out into the garden--“a new +folly, to call back that villain to his counsels. But he is infatuated.” + +The Prince, in the mean time, looked back, and said hastily: + +“Your lordship’s good housekeeping will afford us a flask or two of +wine and a slight collation in the pavilion? I love the al fresco of the +river.” + +The Constable bowed, and gave the necessary orders; so that Sir John +found the materials of good cheer ready displayed, when, landing from +his barge, he entered the pavilion. + +“It grieves my heart to see your Highness under restraint,” said +Ramorny, with a well executed appearance of sympathy. + +“That grief of thine will grieve mine,” said the Prince. “I am sure here +has Errol, and a right true hearted lord he is, so tired me with grave +looks, and something like grave lessons, that he has driven me back to +thee, thou reprobate, from whom, as I expect nothing good, I may perhaps +obtain something entertaining. Yet, ere we say more, it was foul work, +that upon the Fastern’s Even, Ramorny. I well hope thou gavest not aim +to it.” + +“On my honour, my lord, a simple mistake of the brute Bonthron. I did +hint to him that a dry beating would be due to the fellow by whom I had +lost a hand; and lo you, my knave makes a double mistake. He takes one +man for another, and instead of the baton he uses the axe.” + +“It is well that it went no farther. Small matter for the bonnet maker; +but I had never forgiven you had the armourer fallen--there is not his +match in Britain. But I hope they hanged the villain high enough?” + +“If thirty feet might serve,” replied Ramorny. + +“Pah! no more of him,” said Rothsay; “his wretched name makes the good +wine taste of blood. And what are the news in Perth, Ramorny? How stands +it with the bona robas and the galliards?” + +“Little galliardise stirring, my lord,” answered the knight. “All eyes +are turned to the motions of the Black Douglas, who comes with five +thousand chosen men to put us all to rights, as if he were bound for +another Otterburn. It is said he is to be lieutenant again. It is +certain many have declared for his faction.” + +“It is time, then, my feet were free,” said Rothsay, “otherwise I may +find a worse warder than Errol.” + +“Ah, my lord! were you once away from this place, you might make as bold +a head as Douglas.” + +“Ramorny,” said the Prince, gravely, “I have but a confused remembrance +of your once having proposed something horrible to me. Beware of such +counsel. I would be free--I would have my person at my own disposal; but +I will never levy arms against my father, nor those it pleases him to +trust.” + +“It was only for your Royal Highness’s personal freedom that I was +presuming to speak,” answered Ramorny. “Were I in your Grace’s place, +I would get me into that good boat which hovers on the Tay, and drop +quietly down to Fife, where you have many friends, and make free to take +possession of Falkland. It is a royal castle; and though the King has +bestowed it in gift on your uncle, yet surely, even if the grant were +not subject to challenge, your Grace might make free with the residence +of so near a relative.” + +“He hath made free with mine,” said the Duke, “as the stewartry of +Renfrew can tell. But stay, Ramorny--hold; did I not hear Errol say +that the Lady Marjory Douglas, whom they call Duchess of Rothsay, is +at Falkland? I would neither dwell with that lady nor insult her by +dislodging her.” + +“The lady was there, my lord,” replied Ramorny; “I have sure advice that +she is gone to meet her father.” + +“Ha! to animate the Douglas against me? or perhaps to beg him to spare +me, providing I come on my knees to her bed, as pilgrims say the emirs +and amirals upon whom a Saracen soldan bestows a daughter in marriage +are bound to do? Ramorny, I will act by the Douglas’s own saying, ‘It +is better to hear the lark sing than the mouse squeak.’ I will keep both +foot and hand from fetters.” + +“No place fitter than Falkland,” replied Ramorny. “I have enough of good +yeomen to keep the place; and should your Highness wish to leave it, a +brief ride reaches the sea in three directions.” + +“You speak well. But we shall die of gloom yonder. Neither mirth, music, +nor maidens--ha!” said the heedless Prince. + +“Pardon me, noble Duke; but, though the Lady Marjory Douglas be +departed, like an errant dame in romance, to implore succour of her +doughty sire, there is, I may say, a lovelier, I am sure a younger, +maiden, either presently at Falkland or who will soon be on the road +thither. Your Highness has not forgotten the Fair Maid of Perth?” + +“Forget the prettiest wench in Scotland! No--any more than thou hast +forgotten the hand that thou hadst in the Curfew Street onslaught on St. +Valentine’s Eve.” + +“The hand that I had! Your Highness would say, the hand that I lost. As +certain as I shall never regain it, Catharine Glover is, or will soon +be, at Falkland. I will not flatter your Highness by saying she +expects to meet you; in truth, she proposes to place herself under the +protection of the Lady Marjory.” + +“The little traitress,” said the Prince--“she too to turn against me? +She deserves punishment, Ramorny.” + +“I trust your Grace will make her penance a gentle one,” replied the +knight. + +“Faith, I would have been her father confessor long ago, but I have ever +found her coy.” + +“Opportunity was lacking, my lord,” replied Ramorny; “and time presses +even now.” + +“Nay, I am but too apt for a frolic; but my father--” + +“He is personally safe,” said Ramorny, “and as much at freedom as ever +he can be; while your Highness--” + +“Must brook fetters, conjugal or literal--I know it. Yonder comes +Douglas, with his daughter in his hand, as haughty and as harsh featured +as himself, bating touches of age.” + +“And at Falkland sits in solitude the fairest wench in Scotland,” said +Ramorny. “Here is penance and restraint, yonder is joy and freedom.” + +“Thou hast prevailed, most sage counsellor,” replied Rothsay; “but mark +you, it shall be the last of my frolics.” + +“I trust so,” replied Ramorny; “for, when at liberty, you may make a +good accommodation with your royal father.” + +“I will write to him, Ramorny. Get the writing materials. No, I cannot +put my thoughts in words--do thou write.” + +“Your Royal Highness forgets,” said Ramorny, pointing to his mutilated +arm. + +“Ah! that cursed hand of yours. What can we do?” + +“So please your Highness,” answered his counsellor, “if you would use +the hand of the mediciner, Dwining--he writes like a clerk.” + +“Hath he a hint of the circumstances? Is he possessed of them?” + +“Fully,” said Ramorny; and, stepping to the window, he called Dwining +from the boat. + +He entered the presence of the Prince of Scotland, creeping as if he +trode upon eggs, with downcast eyes, and a frame that seemed shrunk up +by a sense of awe produced by the occasion. + +“There, fellow, are writing materials. I will make trial of you; thou +know’st the case--place my conduct to my father in a fair light.” + +Dwining sat down, and in a few minutes wrote a letter, which he handed +to Sir John Ramorny. + +“Why, the devil has aided thee, Dwining,” said the knight. “Listen, my +dear lord. ‘Respected father and liege sovereign--Know that important +considerations induce me to take my departure from this your court, +purposing to make my abode at Falkland, both as the seat of my dearest +uncle Albany, with whom I know your Majesty would desire me to use all +familiarity, and as the residence of one from whom I have been too +long estranged, and with whom I haste to exchange vows of the closest +affection from henceforward.’” + +The Duke of Rothsay and Ramorny laughed aloud; and the physician, +who had listened to his own scroll as if it were a sentence of death, +encouraged by their applause, raised his eyes, uttered faintly his +chuckling note of “He! he!” and was again grave and silent, as if afraid +he had transgressed the bounds of reverent respect. + +“Admirable!” said the Prince--“admirable! The old man will apply +all this to the Duchess, as they call her, of Rothsay. Dwining, thou +shouldst be a secretis to his Holiness the Pope, who sometimes, it is +said, wants a scribe that can make one word record two meanings. I will +subscribe it, and have the praise of the device.” + +“And now, my lord,” said Ramorny, sealing the letter and leaving it +behind, “will you not to boat?” + +“Not till my chamberlain attends with some clothes and necessaries, and +you may call my sewer also.” + +“My lord,” said Ramorny, “time presses, and preparation will but excite +suspicion. Your officers will follow with the mails tomorrow. For +tonight, I trust my poor service may suffice to wait on you at table and +chamber.” + +“Nay, this time it is thou who forgets,” said the Prince, touching the +wounded arm with his walking rod. “Recollect, man, thou canst neither +carve a capon nor tie a point--a goodly sewer or valet of the mouth!” + +Ramorny grinned with rage and pain; for his wound, though in a way of +healing, was still highly sensitive, and even the pointing a finger +towards it made him tremble. + +“Will your Highness now be pleased to take boat?” + +“Not till I take leave of the Lord Constable. Rothsay must not slip +away, like a thief from a prison, from the house of Errol. Summon him +hither.” + +“My Lord Duke,” said Ramorny, “it may be dangerous to our plan.” + +“To the devil with danger, thy plan, and thyself! I must and will act to +Errol as becomes us both.” + +The earl entered, agreeable to the Prince’s summons. + +“I gave you this trouble, my lord,” said Rothsay, with the dignified +courtesy which he knew so well how to assume, “to thank you for your +hospitality and your good company. I can enjoy them no longer, as +pressing affairs call me to Falkland.” + +“My lord,” said the Lord High Constable, “I trust your Grace remembers +that you are--under ward.” + +“How!--under ward? If I am a prisoner, speak plainly; if not, I will +take my freedom to depart.” + +“I would, my lord, your Highness would request his Majesty’s permission +for this journey. There will be much displeasure.” + +“Mean you displeasure against yourself, my lord, or against me?” + +“I have already said your Highness lies in ward here; but if you +determine to break it, I have no warrant--God forbid--to put force on +your inclinations. I can but entreat your Highness, for your own sake--” + +“Of my own interest I am the best judge. Good evening to you, my lord.” + +The wilful Prince stepped into the boat with Dwining and Ramorny, and, +waiting for no other attendance, Eviot pushed off the vessel, which +descended the Tay rapidly by the assistance of sail and oar and of the +ebb tide. + +For some space the Duke of Rothsay appeared silent and moody, nor did +his companions interrupt his reflections. He raised his head at length +and said: “My father loves a jest, and when all is over he will take +this frolic at no more serious rate than it deserves--a fit of youth, +with which he will deal as he has with others. Yonder, my masters, shows +the old hold of Kinfauns, frowning above the Tay. Now, tell me, John +Ramorny, how thou hast dealt to get the Fair Maid of Perth out of the +hands of yonder bull headed provost; for Errol told me it was rumoured +that she was under his protection.” + +“Truly she was, my lord, with the purpose of being transferred to the +patronage of the Duchess--I mean of the Lady Marjory of Douglas. Now, +this beetle headed provost, who is after all but a piece of blundering +valiancy, has, like most such, a retainer of some slyness and cunning, +whom he uses in all his dealings, and whose suggestions he generally +considers as his own ideas. Whenever I would possess myself of a +landward baron, I address myself to such a confidant, who, in the +present case, is called Kitt Henshaw, an old skipper upon the Tay, +and who, having in his time sailed as far as Campvere, holds with Sir +Patrick Charteris the respect due to one who has seen foreign countries. +This his agent I have made my own, and by his means have insinuated +various apologies in order to postpone the departure of Catharine for +Falkland.” + +“But to what good purpose?” + +“I know not if it is wise to tell your Highness, lest you should +disapprove of my views. I meant the officers of the Commission for +inquiry into heretical opinions should have found the Fair Maid at +Kinfauns, for our beauty is a peevish, self willed swerver from the +church; and certes, I designed that the knight should have come in +for his share of the fines and confiscations that were about to be +inflicted. The monks were eager enough to be at him, seeing he hath had +frequent disputes with them about the salmon tithe.” + +“But wherefore wouldst thou have ruined the knight’s fortunes, and +brought the beautiful young woman to the stake, perchance?” + +“Pshaw, my Lord Duke! monks never burn pretty maidens. An old woman +might have been in some danger; and as for my Lord Provost, as they call +him, if they had clipped off some of his fat acres, it would have +been some atonement for the needless brave he put on me in St. John’s +church.” + +“Methinks, John, it was but a base revenge,” said Rothsay. + +“Rest ye contented, my lord. He that cannot right himself by the hand +must use his head. Well, that chance was over by the tender hearted +Douglas’s declaring in favour of tender conscience; and then, my lord, +old Henshaw found no further objections to carrying the Fair Maid +of Perth to Falkland, not to share the dulness of the Lady Marjory’s +society, as Sir Patrick Charteris and she herself doth opine, but to +keep your Highness from tiring when we return from hunting in the park.” + +There was again a long pause, in which the Prince seemed to muse deeply. +At length he spoke. “Ramorny, I have a scruple in this matter; but if I +name it to thee, the devil of sophistry, with which thou art possessed, +will argue it out of me, as it has done many others. This girl is the +most beautiful, one excepted, whom I ever saw or knew; and I like her +the more that she bears some features of--Elizabeth of Dunbar. But she, +I mean Catharine Glover, is contracted, and presently to be wedded, to +Henry the armourer, a craftsman unequalled for skill, and a man at arms +yet unmatched in the barrace. To follow out this intrigue would do a +good fellow too much wrong.” + +“Your Highness will not expect me to be very solicitous of Henry Smith’s +interest,” said Ramorny, looking at his wounded arm. + +“By St. Andrew with his shored cross, this disaster of thine is too much +harped upon, John Ramorny! Others are content with putting a finger +into every man’s pie, but thou must thrust in thy whole gory hand. It is +done, and cannot be undone; let it be forgotten.” + +“Nay, my lord, you allude to it more frequently than I,” answered the +knight--“in derision, it is true; while I--but I can be silent on the +subject if I cannot forget it.” + +“Well, then, I tell thee that I have scruple about this intrigue. Dost +thou remember, when we went in a frolic to hear Father Clement preach, +or rather to see this fair heretic, that he spoke as touchingly as a +minstrel about the rich man taking away the poor man’s only ewe lamb?” + +“A great matter, indeed,” answered Sir John, “that this churl’s wife’s +eldest son should be fathered by the Prince of Scotland! How many earls +would covet the like fate for their fair countesses? and how many that +have had such good luck sleep not a grain the worse for it?” + +“And if I might presume to speak,” said the mediciner, “the ancient +laws of Scotland assigned such a privilege to every feudal lord over his +female vassals, though lack of spirit and love of money hath made many +exchange it for gold.” + +“I require no argument to urge me to be kind to a pretty woman; but this +Catharine has been ever cold to me,” said the Prince. + +“Nay, my lord,” said Ramorny, “if, young, handsome, and a prince, you +know not how to make yourself acceptable to a fine woman, it is not for +me to say more.” + +“And if it were not far too great audacity in me to speak again, I would +say,” quoth the leech, “that all Perth knows that the Gow Chrom never +was the maiden’s choice, but fairly forced upon her by her father. I +know for certain that she refused him repeatedly.” + +“Nay, if thou canst assure us of that, the case is much altered,” said +Rothsay. “Vulcan was a smith as well as Harry Wynd; he would needs wed +Venus, and our chronicles tell us what came of it.” + +“Then long may Lady Venus live and be worshipped,” said Sir John +Ramorny, “and success to the gallant knight Mars who goes a-wooing to +her goddess-ship!” + +The discourse took a gay and idle turn for a few minutes; but the Duke +of Rothsay soon dropped it. “I have left,” he said, “yonder air of the +prison house behind me, and yet my spirits scarce revive. I feel that +drowsy, not unpleasing, yet melancholy mood that comes over us when +exhausted by exercise or satiated with pleasure. Some music now, +stealing on the ear, yet not loud enough to make us lift the eye, were a +treat for the gods.” + +“Your Grace has but to speak your wishes, and the nymphs of the Tay are +as favourable as the fair ones upon the shore. Hark! it is a lute.” + +“A lute!” said the Duke of Rothsay, listening; “it is, and rarely +touched. I should remember that dying fall. Steer towards the boat from +whence the music comes.” + +“It is old Henshaw,” said Ramorny, “working up the stream. How, +skipper!” + +The boatman answered the hail, and drew up alongside of the Prince’s +barge. + +“Oh, ho! my old friend!” said the Prince, recognising the figure as well +as the appointments of the French glee woman, Louise. “I think I owe +thee something for being the means of thy having a fright, at least, +upon St. Valentine’s Day. Into this boat with thee, lute, puppy dog, +scrip and all; I will prefer thee to a lady’s service who shall feed thy +very cur on capons and canary.” + +“I trust your Highness will consider--” said Ramorny. + +“I will consider nothing but my pleasure, John. Pray, do thou be so +complying as to consider it also.” + +“Is it indeed to a lady’s service you would promote me?” said the glee +maiden. “And where does she dwell?” + +“At Falkland,” answered the Prince. + +“Oh, I have heard of that great lady!” said Louise; “and will you indeed +prefer me to your right royal consort’s service?” + +“I will, by my honour--whenever I receive her as such. Mark that +reservation, John,” said he aside to Ramorny. + +The persons who were in the boat caught up the tidings, and, concluding +a reconciliation was about to take place betwixt the royal couple, +exhorted Louise to profit by her good fortune, and add herself to the +Duchess of Rothsay’s train. Several offered her some acknowledgment for +the exercise of her talents. + +During this moment of delay, Ramorny whispered to Dwining: “Make in, +knave, with some objection. This addition is one too many. Rouse thy +wits, while I speak a word with Henshaw.” + +“If I might presume to speak,” said Dwining, “as one who have made +my studies both in Spain and Arabia, I would say, my lord, that the +sickness has appeared in Edinburgh, and that there may be risk in +admitting this young wanderer into your Highness’s vicinity.” + +“Ah! and what is it to thee,” said Rothsay, “whether I choose to be +poisoned by the pestilence or the ‘pothecary? Must thou, too, needs +thwart my humour?” + +While the Prince thus silenced the remonstrances of Dwining, Sir John +Ramorny had snatched a moment to learn from Henshaw that the removal of +the Duchess of Rothsay from Falkland was still kept profoundly secret, +and that Catharine Glover would arrive there that evening or the +next morning, in expectation of being taken under the noble lady’s +protection. + +The Duke of Rothsay, deeply plunged in thought, received this intimation +so coldly, that Ramorny took the liberty of remonstrating. “This, my +lord,” he said, “is playing the spoiled child of fortune. You wish for +liberty; it comes. You wish for beauty; it awaits you, with just so much +delay as to render the boon more precious. Even your slightest desires +seem a law to the Fates; for you desire music when it seems most +distant, and the lute and song are at your hand. These things, so sent, +should be enjoyed, else we are but like petted children, who break and +throw from them the toys they have wept themselves sick for.” + +“To enjoy pleasure, Ramorny,” said the Prince, “a man should have +suffered pain, as it requires fasting to gain a good appetite. We, who +can have all for a wish, little enjoy that all when we have possessed +it. Seest thou yonder thick cloud, which is about to burst to rain? It +seems to stifle me--the waters look dark and lurid--the shores have lost +their beautiful form--” + +“My lord, forgive your servant,” said Ramorny. “You indulge a powerful +imagination, as an unskilful horseman permits a fiery steed to rear +until he falls back on his master and crushes him. I pray you shake off +this lethargy. Shall the glee maiden make some music?” + +“Let her; but it must be melancholy: all mirth would at this moment jar +on my ear.” + +The maiden sung a melancholy dirge in Norman French; the words, of which +the following is an imitation, were united to a tune as doleful as they +are themselves: + + Yes, thou mayst sigh, + And look once more at all around, + At stream and bank, and sky and ground. + Thy life its final course has found, + And thou must die. + + Yes, lay thee down, + And while thy struggling pulses flutter, + Bid the grey monk his soul mass mutter, + And the deep bell its death tone utter-- + Thy life is gone. + + Be not afraid. + ‘Tis but a pang, and then a thrill, + A fever fit, and then a chill, + And then an end of human ill, + For thou art dead. + +The Prince made no observation on the music; and the maiden, at +Ramorny’s beck, went on from time to time with her minstrel craft, until +the evening sunk down into rain, first soft and gentle, at length in +great quantities, and accompanied by a cold wind. There was neither +cloak nor covering for the Prince, and he sullenly rejected that which +Ramorny offered. + +“It is not for Rothsay to wear your cast garments, Sir John; this melted +snow, which I feel pierce me to the very marrow, I am now encountering +by your fault. Why did you presume to put off the boat without my +servants and apparel?” + +Ramorny did not attempt an exculpation; for he knew the Prince was in +one of those humours, when to enlarge upon a grievance was more pleasing +to him than to have his mouth stopped by any reasonable apology. In +sullen silence, or amid unsuppressed chiding, the boat arrived at the +fishing village of Newburgh. The party landed, and found horses in +readiness, which, indeed, Ramorny had long since provided for the +occasion. Their quality underwent the Prince’s bitter sarcasm, expressed +to Ramorny sometimes by direct words, oftener by bitter gibes. At length +they were mounted and rode on through the closing night and the falling +rain, the Prince leading the way with reckless haste. The glee maiden, +mounted by his express order, attended them and well for her that, +accustomed to severe weather, and exercise both on foot and horseback, +she supported as firmly as the men the fatigues of the nocturnal ride. +Ramorny was compelled to keep at the Prince’s rein, being under no small +anxiety lest, in his wayward fit, he might ride off from him entirely, +and, taking refuge in the house of some loyal baron, escape the snare +which was spread for him. He therefore suffered inexpressibly during the +ride, both in mind and in body. + +At length the forest of Falkland received them, and a glimpse of the +moon showed the dark and huge tower, an appendage of royalty itself, +though granted for a season to the Duke of Albany. On a signal given the +drawbridge fell. Torches glared in the courtyard, menials attended, +and the Prince, assisted from horseback, was ushered into an apartment, +where Ramorny waited on him, together with Dwining, and entreated him +to take the leech’s advice. The Duke of Rothsay repulsed the proposal, +haughtily ordered his bed to be prepared, and having stood for some time +shivering in his dank garments beside a large blazing fire, he retired +to his apartment without taking leave of anyone. + +“You see the peevish humour of this childish boy, now,” said Ramorny to +Dwining; “can you wonder that a servant who has done so much for him as +I have should be tired of such a master?” + +“No, truly,” said Dwining, “that and the promised earldom of Lindores +would shake any man’s fidelity. But shall we commence with him this +evening? He has, if eye and cheek speak true, the foundation of a fever +within him, which will make our work easy while it will seem the effect +of nature.” + +“It is an opportunity lost,” said Ramorny; “but we must delay our blow +till he has seen this beauty, Catharine Glover. She may be hereafter a +witness that she saw him in good health, and master of his own motions, +a brief space before--you understand me?” + +Dwining nodded assent, and added: + +“There is no time lost; for there is little difficulty in blighting a +flower exhausted from having been made to bloom too soon.” + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + + Ah, me! in sooth he was a shameless wight, + Sore given to revel and ungodly glee: + Few earthly things found favour in his sight, + Save concubines and carnal companie, + And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree. + + BYRON. + + +With the next morning the humour of the Duke of Rothsay was changed. +He complained, indeed, of pain and fever, but they rather seemed to +stimulate than to overwhelm him. He was familiar with Ramorny, and +though he said nothing on the subject of the preceding night, it was +plain he remembered what he desired to obliterate from the memory of his +followers--the ill humour he had then displayed. He was civil to every +one, and jested with Ramorny on the subject of Catharine’s arrival. + +“How surprised will the pretty prude be at seeing herself in a family +of men, when she expects to be admitted amongst the hoods and pinners +of Dame Marjory’s waiting women! Thou hast not many of the tender sex in +thy household, I take it, Ramorny?” + +“Faith, none except the minstrel wench, but a household drudge or two +whom we may not dispense with. By the way, she is anxiously inquiring +after the mistress your Highness promised to prefer her to. Shall I +dismiss her, to hunt for her new mistress at leisure?” + +“By no means, she will serve to amuse Catharine. And, hark you, were it +not well to receive that coy jillet with something of a mumming?” + +“How mean you, my lord?” + +“Thou art dull, man. We will not disappoint her, since she expects +to find the Duchess of Rothsay: I will be Duke and Duchess in my own +person.” + +“Still I do not comprehend.” + +“No one so dull as a wit,” said the Prince, “when he does not hit off +the scent at once. My Duchess, as they call her, has been in as great a +hurry to run away from Falkland as I to come hither. We have both left +our apparel behind. There is as much female trumpery in the wardrobe +adjoining to my sleeping room as would equip a whole carnival. Look you, +I will play Dame Marjory, disposed on this day bed here with a mourning +veil and a wreath of willow, to show my forsaken plight; thou, John, +wilt look starch and stiff enough for her Galwegian maid of honour, +the Countess Hermigild; and Dwining shall present the old Hecate, her +nurse--only she hath more beard on her upper lip than Dwining on his +whole face, and skull to boot. He should have the commodity of a beard +to set her forth conformably. Get thy kitchen drudges, and what passable +pages thou hast with thee, to make my women of the bedroom. Hearest +thou? about it instantly.” + +Ramorny hasted into the anteroom, and told Dwining the Prince’s device. + +“Do thou look to humour the fool,” he said; “I care not how little I see +him, knowing what is to be done.” + +“Trust all to me,” said the physician, shrugging his shoulders. “What +sort of a butcher is he that can cut the lamb’s throat, yet is afraid to +hear it bleat?” + +“Tush, fear not my constancy: I cannot forget that he would have cast +me into the cloister with as little regard as if he threw away the +truncheon of a broken lance. Begone--yet stay; ere you go to arrange +this silly pageant, something must be settled to impose on the thick +witted Charteris. He is like enough, should he be left in the belief +that the Duchess of Rothsay is still here, and Catharine Glover in +attendance on her, to come down with offers of service, and the like, +when, as I need scarce tell thee, his presence would be inconvenient. +Indeed, this is the more likely, that some folks have given a warmer +name to the iron headed knight’s great and tender patronage of this +damsel.” + +“With that hint, let me alone to deal with him. I will send him such a +letter, that for this month he shall hold himself as ready for a journey +to hell as to Falkland. Can you tell me the name of the Duchess’s +confessor?” + +“Waltheof, a grey friar.” + +“Enough--then here I start.” + +In a few minutes, for he was a clerk of rare celerity, Dwining finished +a letter, which he placed in Ramorny’s hand. + +“This is admirable, and would have made thy fortune with Rothsay. I +think I should have been too jealous to trust thee in his household, +save that his day is closed.” + +“Read it aloud,” said Dwining, “that we may judge if it goes trippingly +off.” + +And Ramorny read as follows: “By command of our high and mighty Princess +Marjory, Duchess of Rothsay, and so forth, we Waltheof, unworthy brother +of the order of St. Francis, do thee, Sir Patrick Charteris, knight of +Kinfauns, to know, that her Highness marvels much at the temerity with +which you have sent to her presence a woman of whose fame she can judge +but lightly, seeing she hath made her abode, without any necessity, +for more than a week in thine own castle, without company of any other +female, saving menials; of which foul cohabitation the savour is gone +up through Fife, Angus, and Perthshire. Nevertheless, her Highness, +considering the ease as one of human frailty, hath not caused this +wanton one to be scourged with nettles, or otherwise to dree penance; +but, as two good brethren of the convent of Lindores, the Fathers +Thickskull and Dundermore, have been summoned up to the Highlands upon +an especial call, her Highness hath committed to their care this maiden +Catharine, with charge to convey her to her father, whom she states +to be residing beside Loch Tay, under whose protection she will find +a situation more fitting her qualities and habits than the Castle of +Falkland, while her Highness the Duchess of Rothsay abides there. She +hath charged the said reverend brothers so to deal with the young woman +as may give her a sense of the sin of incontinence, and she commendeth +thee to confession and penitence.--Signed, Waltheof, by command of an +high and mighty Princess”; and so forth. + +When he had finished, “Excellent--excellent!” Ramorny exclaimed. “This +unexpected rebuff will drive Charteris mad! He hath been long making +a sort of homage to this lady, and to find himself suspected of +incontinence, when he was expecting the full credit of a charitable +action, will altogether confound him; and, as thou say’st, it will be +long enough ere he come hither to look after the damsel or do honour +to the dame. But away to thy pageant, while I prepare that which shall +close the pageant for ever.” + +It was an hour before noon, when Catharine, escorted by old Henshaw and +a groom of the Knight of Kinfauns, arrived before the lordly tower of +Falkland. The broad banner which was displayed from it bore the arms +of Rothsay, the servants who appeared wore the colours of the Prince’s +household, all confirming the general belief that the Duchess still +resided there. Catharine’s heart throbbed, for she had heard that +the Duchess had the pride as well as the high courage of the house +of Douglas, and felt uncertain touching the reception she was to +experience. On entering the castle, she observed that the train was +smaller than she had expected, but, as the Duchess lived in close +retirement, she was little surprised at this. In a species of anteroom +she was met by a little old woman, who seemed bent double with age, and +supported herself upon an ebony staff. + +“Truly thou art welcome, fair daughter,” said she, saluting Catharine, +“and, as I may say, to an afflicted house; and I trust (once more +saluting her) thou wilt be a consolation to my precious and right royal +daughter the Duchess. Sit thee down, my child, till I see whether my +lady be at leisure to receive thee. Ah, my child, thou art very lovely +indeed, if Our Lady hath given to thee a soul to match with so fair a +body.” + +With that the counterfeit old woman crept into the next apartment, +where she found Rothsay in the masquerading habit he had prepared, and +Ramorny, who had evaded taking part in the pageant, in his ordinary +attire. + +“Thou art a precious rascal, sir doctor,” said the Prince; “by my +honour, I think thou couldst find in thy heart to play out the whole +play thyself, lover’s part and all.” + +“If it were to save your Highness trouble,” said the leech, with his +usual subdued laugh. + +“No--no,” said Rothsay, “I never need thy help, man; and tell me now, +how look I, thus disposed on the couch--languishing and ladylike, ha?” + +“Something too fine complexioned and soft featured for the Lady Marjory +of Douglas, if I may presume to say so,” said the leech. + +“Away, villain, and marshal in this fair frost piece--fear not she will +complain of my effeminacy; and thou, Ramorny, away also.” + +As the knight left the apartment by one door, the fictitious old woman +ushered in Catharine Glover by another. The room had been carefully +darkened to twilight, so that Catharine saw the apparently female figure +stretched on the couch without the least suspicion. + +“Is that the maiden?” asked Rothsay, in a voice naturally sweet, and now +carefully modulated to a whispering tone. “Let her approach, Griselda, +and kiss our hand.” + +The supposed nurse led the trembling maiden forward to the side of the +couch, and signed to her to kneel. Catharine did so, and kissed with +much devotion and simplicity the gloved hand which the counterfeit +duchess extended to her. + +“Be not afraid,” said the same musical voice; “in me you only see a +melancholy example of the vanity of human greatness; happy those, my +child, whose rank places them beneath the storms of state.” + +While he spoke, he put his arms around her neck and drew her towards +him, as if to salute her in token of welcome. But the kiss was bestowed +with an earnestness which so much overacted the part of the fair +patroness, that Catharine, concluding the Duchess had lost her senses, +screamed aloud. + +“Peace, fool! it is I--David of Rothsay.” + +Catharine looked around her; the nurse was gone, and the Duke tearing +off his veil, she saw herself in the power of a daring young libertine. + +“Now be present with me, Heaven!” she said; “and Thou wilt, if I forsake +not myself.” + +As this resolution darted through her mind, she repressed her +disposition to scream, and, as far as she might, strove to conceal her +fear. + +“The jest hath been played,” she said, with as much firmness as she +could assume; “may I entreat that your Highness will now unhand me?” for +he still kept hold of her arm. + +“Nay, my pretty captive, struggle not--why should you fear?” + +“I do not struggle, my lord. As you are pleased to detain me, I will +not, by striving, provoke you to use me ill, and give pain to yourself, +when you have time to think.” + +“Why, thou traitress, thou hast held me captive for months,” said the +Prince, “and wilt thou not let me hold thee for a moment?” + +“This were gallantry, my lord, were it in the streets of Perth, where I +might listen or escape as I listed; it is tyranny here.” + +“And if I did let thee go, whither wouldst thou fly?” said Rothsay. +“The bridges are up, the portcullis down, and the men who follow me are +strangely deaf to a peevish maiden’s squalls. Be kind, therefore, and +you shall know what it is to oblige a prince.” + +“Unloose me, then, my lord, and hear me appeal from thyself to thyself, +from Rothsay to the Prince of Scotland. I am the daughter of an humble +but honest citizen. I am, I may well nigh say, the spouse of a brave and +honest man. If I have given your Highness any encouragement for what you +have done, it has been unintentional. Thus forewarned, I entreat you to +forego your power over me, and suffer me to depart. Your Highness can +obtain nothing from me, save by means equally unworthy of knighthood or +manhood.” + +“You are bold, Catharine,” said the Prince, “but neither as a knight +nor a man can I avoid accepting a defiance. I must teach you the risk of +such challenges.” + +While he spoke, he attempted to throw his arms again around her; but she +eluded his grasp, and proceeded in the same tone of firm decision. + +“My strength, my lord, is as great to defend myself in an honourable +strife as yours can be to assail me with a most dishonourable purpose. +Do not shame yourself and me by putting it to the combat. You may stun +me with blows, or you may call aid to overpower me; but otherwise you +will fail of your purpose.” + +“What a brute you would make me!” said the Prince. “The force I would +use is no more than excuses women in yielding to their own weakness.” + +He sat down in some emotion. + +“Then keep it,” said Catharine, “for those women who desire such an +excuse. My resistance is that of the most determined mind which love +of honour and fear of shame ever inspired. Alas! my lord, could you +succeed, you would but break every bond between me and life, between +yourself and honour. I have been trained fraudulently here, by what +decoys I know not; but were I to go dishonoured hence, it would be to +denounce the destroyer of my happiness to every quarter of Europe. +I would take the palmer’s staff in my hand, and wherever chivalry is +honoured, or the word Scotland has been heard, I would proclaim the heir +of a hundred kings, the son of the godly Robert Stuart, the heir of +the heroic Bruce, a truthless, faithless man, unworthy of the crown he +expects and of the spurs he wears. Every lady in wide Europe would hold +your name too foul for her lips; every worthy knight would hold you +a baffled, forsworn caitiff, false to the first vow of arms, the +protection of woman and the defence of the feeble.” + +Rothsay resumed his seat, and looked at her with a countenance in which +resentment was mingled with admiration. “You forget to whom you speak, +maiden. Know, the distinction I have offered you is one for which +hundreds whose trains you are born to bear would feel gratitude.” + +“Once more, my lord,” resumed Catharine, “keep these favours for those +by whom they are prized; or rather reserve your time and your health +for other and nobler pursuits--for the defence of your country and +the happiness of your subjects. Alas, my lord, how willingly would an +exulting people receive you for their chief! How gladly would they close +around you, did you show desire to head them against the oppression of +the mighty, the violence of the lawless, the seduction of the vicious, +and the tyranny of the hypocrite!” + +The Duke of Rothsay, whose virtuous feelings were as easily excited +as they were evanescent, was affected by the enthusiasm with which she +spoke. “Forgive me if I have alarmed you, maiden,” he said “thou art +too noble minded to be the toy of passing pleasure, for which my mistake +destined thee; and I, even were thy birth worthy of thy noble spirit and +transcendent beauty, have no heart to give thee; for by the homage of +the heart only should such as thou be wooed. But my hopes have been +blighted, Catharine: the only woman I ever loved has been torn from me +in the very wantonness of policy, and a wife imposed on me whom I must +ever detest, even had she the loveliness and softness which alone can +render a woman amiable in my eyes. My health is fading even in early +youth; and all that is left for me is to snatch such flowers as the +short passage from life to the grave will now present. Look at my hectic +cheek; feel, if you will, my intermitting pulse; and pity me and excuse +me if I, whose rights as a prince and as a man have been trampled upon +and usurped, feel occasional indifference towards the rights of others, +and indulge a selfish desire to gratify the wish of the passing moment.” + +“Oh, my lord!” exclaimed Catharine, with the enthusiasm which belonged +to her character--“I will call you my dear lord, for dear must the heir +of Bruce be to every child of Scotland--let me not, I pray, hear you +speak thus! Your glorious ancestor endured exile, persecution, the night +of famine, and the day of unequal combat, to free his country; do you +practise the like self denial to free yourself. Tear yourself from those +who find their own way to greatness smoothed by feeding your follies. +Distrust yon dark Ramorny! You know it not, I am sure--you could not +know; but the wretch who could urge the daughter to courses of shame by +threatening the life of the aged father is capable of all that is vile, +all that is treacherous!” + +“Did Ramorny do this?” said the Prince. + +“He did indeed, my lord, and he dares not deny it.” + +“It shall be looked to,” answered the Duke of Rothsay. “I have ceased +to love him; but he has suffered much for my sake, and I must see his +services honourably requited.” + +“His services! Oh, my lord, if chronicles speak true, such services +brought Troy to ruins and gave the infidels possession of Spain.” + +“Hush, maiden--speak within compass, I pray you,” said the Prince, +rising up; “our conference ends here.” + +“Yet one word, my Lord Duke of Rothsay,” said Catharine, with animation, +while her beautiful countenance resembled that of an admonitory angel. +“I cannot tell what impels me to speak thus boldly; but the fire burns +within me, and will break out. Leave this castle without an hour’s +delay; the air is unwholesome for you. Dismiss this Ramorny before the +day is ten minutes older; his company is most dangerous.” + +“What reason have you for saying this?” + +“None in especial,” answered Catharine, abashed at her own +eagerness--“none, perhaps, excepting my fears for your safety.” + +“To vague fears the heir of Bruce must not listen. What, ho! who waits +without?” + +Ramorny entered, and bowed low to the Duke and to the maiden, whom, +perhaps, he considered as likely to be preferred to the post of +favourite sultana, and therefore entitled to a courteous obeisance. + +“Ramorny,” said the Prince, “is there in the household any female of +reputation who is fit to wait on this young woman till we can send her +where she may desire to go?” + +“I fear,” replied Ramorny, “if it displease not your Highness to hear +the truth, your household is indifferently provided in that way; and +that, to speak the very verity, the glee maiden is the most decorous +amongst us.” + +“Let her wait upon this young person, then, since better may not be. And +take patience, maiden, for a few hours.” + +Catharine retired. + +“So, my lord, part you so soon from the Fair Maid of Perth? This is, +indeed, the very wantonness of victory.” + +“There is neither victory nor defeat in the case,” returned the Prince, +drily. “The girl loves me not; nor do I love her well enough to torment +myself concerning her scruples.” + +“The chaste Malcolm the Maiden revived in one of his descendants!” said +Ramorny. + +“Favour me, sir, by a truce to your wit, or by choosing a different +subject for its career. It is noon, I believe, and you will oblige me by +commanding them to serve up dinner.” + +Ramorny left the room; but Rothsay thought he discovered a smile upon +his countenance, and to be the subject of this man’s satire gave him no +ordinary degree of pain. He summoned, however, the knight to his table, +and even admitted Dwining to the same honour. The conversation was of +a lively and dissolute cast, a tone encouraged by the Prince, as if +designing to counterbalance the gravity of his morals in the morning, +which Ramorny, who was read in old chronicles, had the boldness to liken +to the continence of Scipio. + +The banquet, nothwithstanding the Duke’s indifferent health, was +protracted in idle wantonness far beyond the rules of temperance; and, +whether owing simply to the strength of the wine which he drank, or the +weakness of his constitution, or, as it is probable, because the last +wine which he quaffed had been adulterated by Dwining, it so happened +that the Prince, towards the end of the repast, fell into a lethargic +sleep, from which it seemed impossible to rouse him. Sir John Ramorny +and Dwining carried him to his chamber, accepting no other assistance +than that of another person, whom we will afterwards give name to. + +Next morning, it was announced that the Prince was taken ill of +an infectious disorder; and, to prevent its spreading through the +household, no one was admitted to wait on him save his late master of +horse, the physician Dwining, and the domestic already mentioned; one of +whom seemed always to remain in the apartment, while the others observed +a degree of precaution respecting their intercourse with the rest of the +family, so strict as to maintain the belief that he was dangerously ill +of an infectious disorder. + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + + In winter’s tedious nights, sit by the fire, + With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales + Of woeful ages, long ago betid: + And, ere thou bid goodnight, to quit their grief, + Tell thou the lamentable fall of me. + + King Richard II Act V. Scene I. + + +Far different had been the fate of the misguided heir of Scotland from +that which was publicly given out in the town of Falkland. His ambitious +uncle had determined on his death, as the means of removing the first +and most formidable barrier betwixt his own family and the throne. +James, the younger son of the King, was a mere boy, who might at more +leisure be easily set aside. Ramorny’s views of aggrandisement, and the +resentment which he had latterly entertained against his masters made +him a willing agent in young Rothsay’s destruction. Dwining’s love of +gold, and his native malignity of disposition, rendered him equally +forward. It had been resolved, with the most calculating cruelty, +that all means which might leave behind marks of violence were to be +carefully avoided, and the extinction of life suffered to take place +of itself by privation of every kind acting upon a frail and impaired +constitution. The Prince of Scotland was not to be murdered, as Ramorny +had expressed himself on another occasion, he was only to cease to +exist. Rothsay’s bedchamber in the Tower of Falkland was well adapted +for the execution of such a horrible project. A small, narrow staircase, +scarce known to exist, opened from thence by a trapdoor to the +subterranean dungeons of the castle, through a passage by which +the feudal lord was wont to visit, in private and in disguise, the +inhabitants of those miserable regions. By this staircase the villains +conveyed the insensible Prince to the lowest dungeon of the castle, +so deep in the bowels of the earth, that no cries or groans, it was +supposed, could possibly be heard, while the strength of its door and +fastenings must for a long time have defied force, even if the entrance +could have been discovered. Bonthron, who had been saved from the +gallows for the purpose, was the willing agent of Ramorny’s unparalleled +cruelty to his misled and betrayed patron. + +This wretch revisited the dungeon at the time when the Prince’s lethargy +began to wear off, and when, awaking to sensation, he felt himself +deadly cold, unable to move, and oppressed with fetters, which scarce +permitted him to stir from the dank straw on which he was laid. His +first idea was that he was in a fearful dream, his next brought a +confused augury of the truth. He called, shouted, yelled at length in +frenzy but no assistance came, and he was only answered by the vaulted +roof of the dungeon. The agent of hell heard these agonizing screams, +and deliberately reckoned them against the taunts and reproaches with +which Rothsay had expressed his instinctive aversion to him. When, +exhausted and hopeless, the unhappy youth remained silent, the savage +resolved to present himself before the eyes of his prisoner. The locks +were drawn, the chain fell; the Prince raised himself as high as his +fetters permitted; a red glare, against which he was fain to shut his +eyes, streamed through the vault; and when he opened them again, it was +on the ghastly form of one whom he had reason to think dead. He sunk +back in horror. + +“I am judged and condemned,” he exclaimed, “and the most abhorred fiend +in the infernal regions is sent to torment me!” + +“I live, my lord,” said Bonthron; “and that you may live and enjoy life, +be pleased to sit up and eat your victuals.” + +“Free me from these irons,” said the Prince, “release me from this +dungeon, and, dog as thou art, thou shalt be the richest man in +Scotland.” + +“If you would give me the weight of your shackles in gold,” said +Bonthron, “I would rather see the iron on you than have the treasure +myself! But look up; you were wont to love delicate fare--behold how I +have catered for you.” + +The wretch, with fiendish glee, unfolded a piece of rawhide covering the +bundle which he bore under’ his arm, and, passing the light to and fro +before it, showed the unhappy Prince a bull’s head recently hewn from +the trunk, and known in Scotland as the certain signal of death. He +placed it at the foot of the bed, or rather lair, on which the Prince +lay. + +“Be moderate in your food,” he said; “it is like to be long ere thou +getst another meal.” + +“Tell me but one thing, wretch,” said the Prince. “Does Ramorny know of +this practice?” + +“How else hadst thou been decoyed hither? Poor woodcock, thou art +snared!” answered the murderer. + +With these words, the door shut, the bolts resounded, and the unhappy +Prince was left to darkness, solitude, and misery. “Oh, my father!--my +prophetic father! The staff I leaned on has indeed proved a spear!” + +We will not dwell on the subsequent hours, nay, days, of bodily agony +and mental despair. + +But it was not the pleasure of Heaven that so great a crime should be +perpetrated with impunity. + +Catharine Glover and the glee woman, neglected by the other inmates, +who seemed to be engaged with the tidings of the Prince’s illness, were, +however, refused permission to leave the castle until it should be seen +how this alarming disease was to terminate, and whether it was actually +an infectious sickness. Forced on each other’s society, the two desolate +women became companions, if not friends; and the union drew somewhat +closer when Catharine discovered that this was the same female minstrel +on whose account Henry Wynd had fallen under her displeasure. She now +heard his complete vindication, and listened with ardour to the praises +which Louise heaped on her gallant protector. On the other hand, the +minstrel, who felt the superiority of Catharine’s station and character, +willingly dwelt upon a theme which seemed to please her, and recorded +her gratitude to the stout smith in the little song of “Bold and True,” + which was long a favourite in Scotland. + + Oh, bold and true, + In bonnet blue, + That fear or falsehood never knew, + Whose heart was loyal to his word, + Whose hand was faithful to his sword-- + Seek Europe wide from sea to sea, + But bonny blue cap still for me! + + I’ve seen Almain’s proud champions prance, + Have seen the gallant knights of France, + Unrivall’d with the sword and lance, + Have seen the sons of England true, + Wield the brown bill and bend the yew. + Search France the fair, and England free, + But bonny blue cap still for me! + +In short, though Louise’s disreputable occupation would have been in +other circumstances an objection to Catharine’s voluntarily frequenting +her company, yet, forced together as they now were, she found her a +humble and accommodating companion. + +They lived in this manner for four or five days, and, in order to avoid +as much as possible the gaze, and perhaps the incivility, of the menials +in the offices, they prepared their food in their own apartment. In the +absolutely necessary intercourse with domestics, Louise, more accustomed +to expedients, bolder by habit, and desirous to please Catharine, +willingly took on herself the trouble of getting from the pantler the +materials of their slender meal, and of arranging it with the dexterity +of her country. + +The glee woman had been abroad for this purpose upon the sixth day, a +little before noon; and the desire of fresh air, or the hope to find +some sallad or pot herbs, or at least an early flower or two, with which +to deck their board, had carried her into the small garden appertaining +to the castle. She re-entered her apartment in the tower with a +countenance pale as ashes, and a frame which trembled like an aspen +leaf. Her terror instantly extended itself to Catharine, who could +hardly find words to ask what new misfortune had occurred. + +“Is the Duke of Rothsay dead?” + +“Worse! they are starving him alive.” + +“Madness, woman!” + +“No--no--no--no!” said Louise, speaking under her breath, and huddling +her words so thick upon each other that Catharine could hardly catch +the sense. “I was seeking for flowers to dress your pottage, because +you said you loved them yesterday; my poor little dog, thrusting himself +into a thicket of yew and holly bushes that grow out of some old ruins +close to the castle wall, came back whining and howling. I crept forward +to see what might be the cause--and, oh! I heard a groaning as of one +in extreme pain, but so faint, that it seemed to arise out of the very +depth of the earth. At length, I found it proceeded from a small rent in +the wall, covered with ivy; and when I laid my ear close to the opening, +I could hear the Prince’s voice distinctly say, ‘It cannot now last +long’--and then it sunk away in something like a prayer.” + +“Gracious Heaven! did you speak to him?” + +“I said, ‘Is it you, my lord?’ and the answer was, ‘Who mocks me with +that title?’ I asked him if I could help him, and he answered with a +voice I shall never forget, ‘Food--food! I die of famine!’ So I came +hither to tell you. What is to be done? Shall we alarm the house?” + +“Alas! that were more likely to destroy than to aid,” said Catharine. + +“And what then shall we do?” said Louise. + +“I know not yet,” said Catharine, prompt and bold on occasions of +moment, though yielding to her companion in ingenuity of resource on +ordinary occasions: “I know not yet, but something we will do: the blood +of Bruce shall not die unaided.” + +So saying, she seized the small cruise which contained their soup, and +the meat of which it was made, wrapped some thin cakes which she had +baked into the fold of her plaid, and, beckoning her companion to follow +with a vessel of milk, also part of their provisions, she hastened +towards the garden. + +“So, our fair vestal is stirring abroad?” said the only man she met, who +was one of the menials; but Catharine passed on without notice or reply, +and gained the little garden without farther interruption. + +Louise indicated to her a heap of ruins, which, covered with underwood, +was close to the castle wall. It had probably been originally a +projection from the building; and the small fissure, which communicated +with the dungeon, contrived for air, had terminated within it. But the +aperture had been a little enlarged by decay, and admitted a dim ray of +light to its recesses, although it could not be observed by those who +visited the place with torchlight aids. + +“Here is dead silence,” said Catharine, after she had listened +attentively for a moment. “Heaven and earth, he is gone!” + +“We must risk something,” said her companion, and ran her fingers over +the strings of her guitar. + +A sigh was the only answer from the depth of the dungeon. Catharine then +ventured to speak. “I am here, my lord--I am here, with food and drink.” + +“Ha! Ramorny! The jest comes too late; I am dying,” was the answer. + +“His brain is turned, and no wonder,” thought Catharine; “but whilst +there is life, there may be hope.” + +“It is I, my lord, Catharine Glover. I have food, if I could pass it +safely to you.” + +“Heaven bless thee, maiden! I thought the pain was over, but it glows +again within me at the name of food.” + +“The food is here, but how--ah, how can I pass it to you? the chink +is so narrow, the wall is so thick! Yet there is a remedy--I have it. +Quick, Louise; cut me a willow bough, the tallest you can find.” + +The glee maiden obeyed, and, by means of a cleft in the top of the +wand, Catharine transmitted several morsels of the soft cakes, soaked in +broth, which served at once for food and for drink. + +The unfortunate young man ate little, and with difficulty, but prayed +for a thousand blessings on the head of his comforter. “I had destined +thee to be the slave of my vices,” he said, “and yet thou triest to +become the preserver of my life! But away, and save thyself.” + +“I will return with food as I shall see opportunity,” said Catharine, +just as the glee maiden plucked her sleeve and desired her to be silent +and stand close. + +Both crouched among the ruins, and they heard the voices of Ramorny and +the mediciner in close conversation. + +“He is stronger than I thought,” said the former, in a low, croaking +tone. “How long held out Dalwolsy, when the knight of Liddesdale +prisoned him in his castle of Hermitage?” + +“For a fortnight,” answered Dwining; “but he was a strong man, and had +some assistance by grain which fell from a granary above his prison +house.” + +“Were it not better end the matter more speedily? The Black Douglas +comes this way. He is not in Albany’s secret. He will demand to see the +Prince, and all must be over ere he comes.” + +They passed on in their dark and fatal conversation. + +“Now gain we the tower,” said Catharine to her companion, when she saw +they had left the garden. “I had a plan of escape for myself; I will +turn it into one of rescue for the Prince. The dey woman enters the +castle about vesper time, and usually leaves her cloak in the passage as +she goes into the pantlers’ office with the milk. Take thou the cloak, +muffle thyself close, and pass the warder boldly; he is usually drunken +at that hour, and thou wilt go as the dey woman unchallenged through +gate and along bridge, if thou bear thyself with confidence. Then away +to meet the Black Douglas; he is our nearest and only aid.” + +“But,” said Louise, “is he not that terrible lord who threatened me with +shame and punishment?” + +“Believe it,” said Catharine, “such as thou or I never dwelt an hour in +the Douglas’s memory, either for good or evil. Tell him that his son in +law, the Prince of Scotland dies--treacherously famished--in Falkland +Castle, and thou wilt merit not pardon only, but reward.” + +“I care not for reward,” said Louise; “the deed will reward itself. But +methinks to stay is more dangerous than to go. Let me stay, then, and +nourish the unhappy Prince, and do you depart to bring help. If they +kill me before you return, I leave you my poor lute, and pray you to be +kind to my poor Charlot.” + +“No, Louise,” replied Catharine, “you are a more privileged and +experienced wanderer than I--do you go; and if you find me dead on your +return, as may well chance, give my poor father this ring and a lock of +my hair, and say, Catharine died in endeavouring to save the blood of +Bruce. And give this other lock to Henry; say, Catharine thought of him +to the last, and that, if he has judged her too scrupulous touching the +blood of others, he will then know it was not because she valued her +own.” + +They sobbed in each other’s arms, and the intervening hours till evening +were spent in endeavouring to devise some better mode of supplying the +captive with nourishment, and in the construction of a tube, composed +of hollow reeds, slipping into each other, by which liquids might be +conveyed to him. The bell of the village church of Falkland tolled to +vespers. The dey, or farm woman, entered with her pitchers to deliver +the milk for the family, and to hear and tell the news stirring. She had +scarcely entered the kitchen when the female minstrel, again throwing +herself in Catharine’s arms, and assuring her of her unalterable +fidelity, crept in silence downstairs, the little dog under her arm. A +moment after, she was seen by the breathless Catharine, wrapt in the dey +woman’s cloak, and walking composedly across the drawbridge. + +“So,” said the warder, “you return early tonight, May Bridget? Small +mirth towards in the hall--ha, wench! Sick times are sad times!” + +“I have forgotten my tallies,” said the ready witted French woman, “and +will return in the skimming of a bowie.” + +She went onward, avoiding the village of Falkland, and took a footpath +which led through the park. Catharine breathed freely, and blessed God +when she saw her lost in the distance. It was another anxious hour +for Catharine which occurred before the escape of the fugitive was +discovered. This happened so soon as the dey girl, having taken an hour +to perform a task which ten minutes might have accomplished, was about +to return, and discovered that some one had taken away her grey frieze +cloak. A strict search was set on foot; at length the women of the +house remembered the glee maiden, and ventured to suggest her as one not +unlikely to exchange an old cloak for a new one. The warder, strictly +questioned, averred he saw the dey woman depart immediately after +vespers; and on this being contradicted by the party herself, he could +suggest, as the only alternative, that it must needs have been the +devil. + +As, however, the glee woman could not be found, the real circumstances +of the case were easily guessed at; and the steward went to inform Sir +John Ramorny and Dwining, who were now scarcely ever separate, of +the escape of one of their female captives. Everything awakens the +suspicions of the guilty. They looked on each other with faces of +dismay, and then went together to the humble apartment of Catharine, +that they might take her as much as possible by surprise while they +inquired into the facts attending Louise’s disappearance. + +“Where is your companion, young woman?” said Ramorny, in a tone of +austere gravity. + +“I have no companion here,” answered Catharine. + +“Trifle not,” replied the knight; “I mean the glee maiden, who lately +dwelt in this chamber with you.” + +“She is gone, they tell me,” said Catharine--“gone about an hour since.” + +“And whither?” said Dwining. + +“How,” answered Catharine, “should I know which way a professed wanderer +may choose to travel? She was tired no doubt of a solitary life, so +different from the scenes of feasting and dancing which her trade leads +her to frequent. She is gone, and the only wonder is that she should +have stayed so long.” + +“This, then,” said Ramorny, “is all you have to tell us?” + +“All that I have to tell you, Sir John,” answered Catharine, firmly; +“and if the Prince himself inquire, I can tell him no more.” + +“There is little danger of his again doing you the honour to speak to +you in person,” said Ramorny, “even if Scotland should escape being +rendered miserable by the sad event of his decease.” + +“Is the Duke of Rothsay so very ill?” asked Catharine. + +“No help, save in Heaven,” answered Ramorny, looking upward. + +“Then may there yet be help there,” said Catharine, “if human aid prove +unavailing!” + +“Amen!” said Ramorny, with the most determined gravity; while Dwining +adopted a face fit to echo the feeling, though it seemed to cost him +a painful struggle to suppress his sneering yet soft laugh of triumph, +which was peculiarly excited by anything having a religious tendency. + +“And it is men--earthly men, and not incarnate devils, who thus appeal +to Heaven, while they are devouring by inches the life blood of their +hapless master!” muttered Catharine, as her two baffled inquisitors left +the apartment. “Why sleeps the thunder? But it will roll ere long, and +oh! may it be to preserve as well as to punish!” + +The hour of dinner alone afforded a space when, all in the castle being +occupied with that meal, Catharine thought she had the best opportunity +of venturing to the breach in the wall, with the least chance of being +observed. In waiting for the hour, she observed some stir in the castle, +which had been silent as the grave ever since the seclusion of the Duke +of Rothsay. The portcullis was lowered and raised, and the creaking of +the machinery was intermingled with the tramp of horse, as men at arms +went out and returned with steeds hard ridden and covered with foam. She +observed, too, that such domestics as she casually saw from her window +were in arms. All this made her heart throb high, for it augured the +approach of rescue; and besides, the bustle left the little garden more +lonely than ever. At length the hour of noon arrived; she had taken care +to provide, under pretence of her own wishes, which the pantler seemed +disposed to indulge, such articles of food as could be the most easily +conveyed to the unhappy captive. She whispered to intimate her presence; +there was no answer; she spoke louder, still there was silence. + +“He sleeps,” she muttered these words half aloud, and with a shuddering +which was succeeded by a start and a scream, when a voice replied behind +her: + +“Yes, he sleeps; but it is for ever.” + +She looked round. Sir John Ramorny stood behind her in complete armour, +but the visor of his helmet was up, and displayed a countenance more +resembling one about to die than to fight. He spoke with a grave tone, +something between that of a calm observer of an interesting event and of +one who is an agent and partaker in it. + +“Catharine,” he said, “all is true which I tell you. He is dead. You +have done your best for him; you can do no more.” + +“I will not--I cannot believe it,” said Catharine. “Heaven be merciful +to me! it would make one doubt of Providence, to think so great a crime +has been accomplished.” + +“Doubt not of Providence, Catharine, though it has suffered the +profligate to fall by his own devices. Follow me; I have that to say +which concerns you. I say follow (for she hesitated), unless you prefer +being left to the mercies of the brute Bonthron and the mediciner +Henbane Dwining.” + +“I will follow you,” said Catharine. “You cannot do more to me than you +are permitted.” + +He led the way into the tower, and mounted staircase after staircase and +ladder after ladder. + +Catharine’s resolution failed her. “I will follow no farther,” she said. +“Whither would you lead me? If to my death, I can die here.” + +“Only to the battlements of the castle, fool,” said Ramorny, throwing +wide a barred door which opened upon the vaulted roof of the castle, +where men were bending mangonels, as they called them (military engines, +that is, for throwing arrows or stones), getting ready crossbows, and +piling stones together. But the defenders did not exceed twenty in +number, and Catharine thought she could observe doubt and irresolution +amongst them. + +“Catharine,” said Ramorny, “I must not quit this station, which is +necessary for my defence; but I can speak with you here as well as +elsewhere.” + +“Say on,” answered Catharine, “I am prepared to hear you.” + +“You have thrust yourself, Catharine, into a bloody secret. Have you the +firmness to keep it?” + +“I do not understand you, Sir John,” answered the maiden. + +“Look you. I have slain--murdered, if you will--my late master, the Duke +of Rothsay. The spark of life which your kindness would have fed +was easily smothered. His last words called on his father. You are +faint--bear up--you have more to hear. You know the crime, but you know +not the provocation. See! this gauntlet is empty; I lost my right hand +in his cause, and when I was no longer fit to serve him, I was cast off +like a worn out hound, my loss ridiculed, and a cloister recommended, +instead of the halls and palaces in which I had my natural sphere! Think +on this--pity and assist me.” + +“In what manner can you require my assistance?” said the trembling +maiden; “I can neither repair your loss nor cancel your crime.” + +“Thou canst be silent, Catharine, on what thou hast seen and heard in +yonder thicket. It is but a brief oblivion I ask of you, whose word +will, I know, be listened to, whether you say such things were or were +not. That of your mountebank companion, the foreigner, none will hold +to be of a pin point’s value. If you grant me this, I will take your +promise for my security, and throw the gate open to those who now +approach it. If you will not promise silence, I defend this castle till +every one perishes, and I fling you headlong from these battlements. +Ay, look at them--it is not a leap to be rashly braved. Seven courses of +stairs brought you up hither with fatigue and shortened breath; but you +shall go from the top to the bottom in briefer time than you can breathe +a sigh! Speak the word, fair maid; for you speak to one unwilling to +harm you, but determined in his purpose.” + +Catharine stood terrified, and without power of answering a man who +seemed so desperate; but she was saved the necessity of reply by the +approach of Dwining. He spoke with the same humble conges which at all +times distinguished his manner, and with his usual suppressed ironical +sneer, which gave that manner the lie. + +“I do you wrong, noble sir, to intrude on your valiancie when engaged +with a fair damsel. But I come to ask a trifling question.” + +“Speak, tormentor!” said Ramorny; “ill news are sport to thee even when +they affect thyself, so that they concern others also.” + +“Hem!--he, he!--I only desired to know if your knighthood proposed the +chivalrous task of defending the castle with your single hand--I crave +pardon, I meant your single arm? The question is worth asking, for I +am good for little to aid the defence, unless you could prevail on the +besiegers to take physic--he, he, he!--and Bonthron is as drunk as ale +and strong waters can make him; and you, he, and I make up the whole +garrison who are disposed for resistance.” + +“How! Will the other dogs not fight?” said Ramorny. + +“Never saw men who showed less stomach to the work,” answered +Dwining--“never. But here come a brace of them. Venit extrema dies. He, +he, he!” + +Eviot and his companion Buncle now approached, with sullen resolution +in their faces, like men who had made their minds up to resist that +authority which they had so long obeyed. + +“How now!” said Ramorny, stepping forward to meet them. “Wherefore from +your posts? Why have you left the barbican, Eviot? And you other fellow, +did I not charge you to look to the mangonels?” + +“We have something to tell you, Sir John Ramorny,” answered Eviot. “We +will not fight in this quarrel.” + +“How--my own squires control me?” exclaimed Ramorny. + +“We were your squires and pages, my lord, while you were master of the +Duke of Rothsay’s household. It is bruited about the Duke no longer +lives; we desire to know the truth.” + +“What traitor dares spread such falsehoods?” said Ramorny. + +“All who have gone out to skirt the forest, my lord, and I myself among +others, bring back the same news. The minstrel woman who left the castle +yesterday has spread the report everywhere that the Duke of Rothsay +is murdered, or at death’s door. The Douglas comes on us with a strong +force--” + +“And you, cowards, take advantage of an idle report to forsake your +master?” said Ramorny, indignantly. + +“My lord,” said Eviot, “let Buncle and myself see the Duke of Rothsay, +and receive his personal orders for defence of this castle, and if we do +not fight to the death in that quarrel, I will consent to be hanged on +its highest turret. But if he be gone by natural disease, we will yield +up the castle to the Earl of Douglas, who is, they say, the King’s +lieutenant. Or if--which Heaven forefend!--the noble Prince has had +foul play, we will not involve ourselves in the guilt of using arms in +defence of the murderers, be they who they will.” + +“Eviot,” said Ramorny, raising his mutilated arm, “had not that glove +been empty, thou hadst not lived to utter two words of this insolence.” + +“It is as it is,” answered Evict, “and we do but our duty. I have +followed you long, my lord, but here I draw bridle.” + +“Farewell, then, and a curse light on all of you!” exclaimed the +incensed baron. “Let my horse be brought forth!” + +“Our valiancie is about to run away,” said the mediciner, who had crept +close to Catharine’s side before she was aware. “Catharine, thou art a +superstitious fool, like most women; nevertheless thou hast some mind, +and I speak to thee as one of more understanding than the buffaloes +which are herding about us. These haughty barons who overstride the +world, what are they in the day of adversity? Chaff before the wind. Let +their sledge hammer hands or their column resembling legs have injury, +and bah! the men at arms are gone. Heart and courage is nothing to +them, lith and limb everything: give them animal strength, what are they +better than furious bulls; take that away, and your hero of chivalry +lies grovelling like the brute when he is hamstrung. Not so the sage; +while a grain of sense remains in a crushed or mutilated frame, his mind +shall be strong as ever. Catharine, this morning I was practising your +death; but methinks I now rejoice that you may survive to tell how the +poor mediciner, the pill gilder, the mortar pounder, the poison vender, +met his fate, in company with the gallant Knight of Ramorny, Baron in +possession and Earl of Lindores in expectation--God save his lordship!” + +“Old man,” said Catharine, “if thou be indeed so near the day of thy +deserved doom, other thoughts were far wholesomer than the vainglorious +ravings of a vain philosophy. Ask to see a holy man--” + +“Yes,” said Dwining, scornfully, “refer myself to a greasy monk, who +does not--he! he! he!--understand the barbarous Latin he repeats by +rote. Such would be a fitting counsellor to one who has studied both +in Spain and Arabia! No, Catharine, I will choose a confessor that is +pleasant to look upon, and you shall be honoured with the office. Now, +look yonder at his valiancie, his eyebrow drops with moisture, his lip +trembles with agony; for his valiancie--he! he! he!--is pleading for his +life with his late domestics, and has not eloquence enough to persuade +them to let him slip. See how the fibres of his face work as he implores +the ungrateful brutes, whom he has heaped with obligations, to permit +him to get such a start for his life as the hare has from the greyhounds +when men course her fairly. Look also at the sullen, downcast, dogged +faces with which, fluctuating between fear and shame, the domestic +traitors deny their lord this poor chance for his life. These things +thought themselves the superior of a man like me! and you, foolish +wench, think so meanly of your Deity as to suppose wretches like them +are the work of Omnipotence!” + +“No! man of evil--no!” said Catharine, warmly; “the God I worship +created these men with the attributes to know and adore Him, to guard +and defend their fellow creatures, to practise holiness and virtue. +Their own vices, and the temptations of the Evil One, have made them +such as they now are. Oh, take the lesson home to thine own heart of +adamant! Heaven made thee wiser than thy fellows, gave thee eyes to look +into the secrets of nature, a sagacious heart, and a skilful hand; but +thy pride has poisoned all these fair gifts, and made an ungodly atheist +of one who might have been a Christian sage!” + +“Atheist, say’st thou?” answered Dwining. “Perhaps I have doubts on that +matter--but they will be soon solved. Yonder comes one who will send +me, as he has done thousands, to the place where all mysteries shall be +cleared.” + +Catharine followed the mediciner’s eye up one of the forest glades, and +beheld it occupied by a body of horsemen advancing at full gallop. In +the midst was a pennon displayed, which, though its bearings were not +visible to Catharine, was, by a murmur around, acknowledged as that of +the Black Douglas. They halted within arrow shot of the castle, and a +herald with two trumpets advanced up to the main portal, where, after a +loud flourish, he demanded admittance for the high and dreaded Archibald +Earl of Douglas, Lord Lieutenant of the King, and acting for the time +with the plenary authority of his Majesty; commanding, at the same time, +that the inmates of the castle should lay down their arms, all under +penalty of high treason. + +“You hear?” said Eviot to Ramorny, who stood sullen and undecided. “Will +you give orders to render the castle, or must I?” + +“No, villain!” interrupted the knight, “to the last I will command you. +Open the gates, drop the bridge, and render the castle to the Douglas.” + +“Now, that’s what may be called a gallant exertion of free will,” said +Dwining. “Just as if the pieces of brass that were screaming a minute +since should pretend to call those notes their own which are breathed +through them by a frowsy trumpeter.” + +“Wretched man!” said Catharine, “either be silent or turn thy thoughts +to the eternity on the brink of which thou art standing.” + +“And what is that to thee?” answered Dwining. “Thou canst not, wench, +help hearing what I say to thee, and thou wilt tell it again, for thy +sex cannot help that either. Perth and all Scotland shall know what a +man they have lost in Henbane Dwining!” + +The clash of armour now announced that the newcomers had dismounted and +entered the castle, and were in the act of disarming the small garrison. +Earl Douglas himself appeared on the battlements, with a few of his +followers, and signed to them to take Ramorny and Dwining into custody. +Others dragged from some nook the stupefied Bonthron. + +“It was to these three that the custody of the Prince was solely +committed daring his alleged illness?” said the Douglas, prosecuting an +inquiry which he had commenced in the hall of the castle. + +“No other saw him, my lord,” said Eviot, “though I offered my services.” + +“Conduct us to the Duke’s apartment, and bring the prisoners with +us. Also should there be a female in the castle, if she hath not been +murdered or spirited away--the companion of the glee maiden who brought +the first alarm.” + +“She is here, my lord,” said Eviot, bringing Catharine forward. + +Her beauty and her agitation made some impression even upon the +impassible Earl. + +“Fear nothing, maiden,” he said; “thou hast deserved both praise and +reward. Tell to me, as thou wouldst confess to Heaven, the things thou +hast witnessed in this castle.” + +Few words served Catharine to unfold the dreadful story. + +“It agrees,” said the Douglas, “with the tale of the glee maiden, from +point to point. Now show us the Prince’s apartment.” + +They passed to the room which the unhappy Duke of Rothsay had been +supposed to inhabit; but the key was not to be found, and the Earl could +only obtain entrance by forcing the door. On entering, the wasted and +squalid remains of the unhappy Prince were discovered, flung on the bed +as if in haste. The intention of the murderers had apparently been to +arrange the dead body so as to resemble a timely parted corpse, but they +had been disconcerted by the alarm occasioned by the escape of Louise. +Douglas looked on the body of the misguided youth, whose wild passions +and caprices had brought him to this fatal and premature catastrophe. + +“I had wrongs to be redressed,” he said; “but to see such a sight as +this banishes all remembrance of injury!” + +“He! he! It should have been arranged,” said Dwining, “more to your +omnipotence’s pleasure; but you came suddenly on us, and hasty masters +make slovenly service.” + +Douglas seemed not to hear what his prisoner said, so closely did he +examine the wan and wasted features, and stiffened limbs, of the dead +body before him. Catharine, overcome by sickness and fainting, at length +obtained permission to retire from the dreadful scene, and, through +confusion of every description, found her way to her former apartment, +where she was locked in the arms of Louise, who had returned in the +interval. + +The investigations of Douglas proceeded. The dying hand of the Prince +was found to be clenched upon a lock of hair, resembling, in colour and +texture, the coal black bristles of Bonthron. Thus, though famine had +begun the work, it would seem that Rothsay’s death had been finally +accomplished by violence. The private stair to the dungeon, the keys of +which were found at the subaltern assassin’s belt, the situation of the +vault, its communication with the external air by the fissure in the +walls, and the wretched lair of straw, with the fetters which remained +there, fully confirmed the story of Catharine and of the glee woman. + +“We will not hesitate an instant,” said the Douglas to his near kinsman, +the Lord Balveny, as soon as they returned from the dungeon. “Away with +the murderers! hang them over the battlements.” + +“But, my lord, some trial may be fitting,” answered Balveny. + +“To what purpose?” answered, Douglas. “I have taken them red hand; my +authority will stretch to instant execution. Yet stay--have we not some +Jedwood men in our troop?” + +“Plenty of Turnbulls, Rutherfords, Ainslies, and so forth,” said +Balveny. + +“Call me an inquest of these together; they are all good men and true, +saving a little shifting for their living. Do you see to the execution +of these felons, while I hold a court in the great hall, and we’ll try +whether the jury or the provost marshal do their work first; we will +have Jedwood justice--hang in haste and try at leisure.” + +“Yet stay, my lord,” said Ramorny, “you may rue your haste--will you +grant me a word out of earshot?” + +“Not for worlds!” said Douglas; “speak out what thou hast to say before +all that are here present.” + +“Know all; then,” said Ramorny, aloud, “that this noble Earl had letters +from the Duke of Albany and myself, sent him by the hand of yon cowardly +deserter, Buncle--let him deny it if he dare--counselling the removal +of the Duke for a space from court, and his seclusion in this Castle of +Falkland.” + +“But not a word,” replied Douglas, sternly smiling, “of his being flung +into a dungeon--famished--strangled. Away with the wretches, Balveny, +they pollute God’s air too long!” + +The prisoners were dragged off to the battlements. But while the means +of execution were in the act of being prepared, the apothecary expressed +so ardent a desire to see Catharine once more, and, as he said, for +the good of his soul, that the maiden, in hopes his obduracy might have +undergone some change even at the last hour, consented again to go +to the battlements, and face a scene which her heart recoiled from. +A single glance showed her Bonthron, sunk in total and drunken +insensibility; Ramorny, stripped of his armour, endeavouring in vain to +conceal fear, while he spoke with a priest, whose good offices he had +solicited; and Dwining, the same humble, obsequious looking, crouching +individual she had always known him. He held in his hand a little silver +pen, with which he had been writing on a scrap of parchment. + +“Catharine,” he said--“he, he, he!--I wish to speak to thee on the +nature of my religious faith.” + +“If such be thy intention, why lose time with me? Speak with this good +father.” + +“The good father,” said Dwining, “is--he, he!--already a worshipper of +the deity whom I have served. I therefore prefer to give the altar of +mine idol a new worshipper in thee, Catharine. This scrap of parchment +will tell thee how to make your way into my chapel, where I have +worshipped so often in safety. I leave the images which it contains to +thee as a legacy, simply because I hate and contemn thee something less +than any of the absurd wretches whom I have hitherto been obliged to +call fellow creatures. And now away--or remain and see if the end of the +quacksalver belies his life.” + +“Our Lady forbid!” said Catharine. + +“Nay,” said the mediciner, “I have but a single word to say, and yonder +nobleman’s valiancie may hear it if he will.” + +Lord Balveny approached, with some curiosity; for the undaunted +resolution of a man who never wielded sword or bore armour and was in +person a poor dwindled dwarf, had to him an air of something resembling +sorcery.” + +“You see this trifling implement,” said the criminal, showing the +silver pen. “By means of this I can escape the power even of the Black +Douglas.” + +“Give him no ink nor paper,” said Balveny, hastily, “he will draw a +spell.” + +“Not so, please your wisdom and valiancie--he, he, he!” said Dwining +with his usual chuckle, as he unscrewed the top of the pen, within which +was a piece of sponge or some such substance, no bigger than a pea. + +“Now, mark this--” said the prisoner, and drew it between his lips. +The effect was instantaneous. He lay a dead corpse before them, the +contemptuous sneer still on his countenance. + +Catharine shrieked and fled, seeking, by a hasty descent, an escape from +a sight so appalling. Lord Balveny was for a moment stupified, and then +exclaimed, “This may be glamour! hang him over the battlements, quick +or dead. If his foul spirit hath only withdrawn for a space, it shall +return to a body with a dislocated neck.” + +His commands were obeyed. Ramorny and Bonthron were then ordered for +execution. The last was hanged before he seemed quite to comprehend what +was designed to be done with him. Ramorny, pale as death, yet with +the same spirit of pride which had occasioned his ruin, pleaded his +knighthood, and demanded the privilege of dying by decapitation by the +sword, and not by the noose. + +“The Douglas never alters his doom,” said Balveny. “But thou shalt have +all thy rights. Send the cook hither with a cleaver.” + +The menial whom he called appeared at his summons. + +“What shakest thou for, fellow?” said Balveny; “here, strike me this +man’s gilt spurs from his heels with thy cleaver. And now, John Ramorny, +thou art no longer a knight, but a knave. To the halter with him, +provost marshal! hang him betwixt his companions, and higher than them +if it may be.” + +In a quarter of an hour afterwards, Balveny descended to tell the +Douglas that the criminals were executed. + +“Then there is no further use in the trial,” said the Earl. “How say +you, good men of inquest, were these men guilty of high treason--ay or +no?” + +“Guilty,” exclaimed the obsequious inquest, with edifying unanimity, “we +need no farther evidence.” + +“Sound trumpets, and to horse then, with our own train only; and let +each man keep silence on what has chanced here, until the proceedings +shall be laid before the King, which cannot conveniently be till the +battle of Palm Sunday shall be fought and ended. Select our attendants, +and tell each man who either goes with us or remains behind that he who +prates dies.” + +In a few minutes the Douglas was on horseback, with the followers +selected to attend his person. Expresses were sent to his daughter, the +widowed Duchess of Rothsay, directing her to take her course to Perth, +by the shores of Lochleven, without approaching Falkland, and committing +to her charge Catharine Glover and the glee woman, as persons whose +safety he tendered. + +As they rode through the forest, they looked back, and beheld the three +bodies hanging, like specks darkening the walls of the old castle. + +“The hand is punished,” said Douglas, “but who shall arraign the head by +whose direction the act was done?” + +“You mean the Duke of Albany?” said Balveny. + +“I do, kinsman; and were I to listen to the dictates of my heart, I +would charge him with the deed, which I am certain he has authorised. +But there is no proof of it beyond strong suspicion, and Albany has +attached to himself the numerous friends of the house of Stuart, to +whom, indeed, the imbecility of the King and the ill regulated habits +of Rothsay left no other choice of a leader. Were I, therefore, to break +the bond which I have so lately formed with Albany, the consequence +must be civil war, an event ruinous to poor Scotland while threatened +by invasion from the activity of the Percy, backed by the treachery +of March. No, Balveny, the punishment of Albany must rest with Heaven, +which, in its own good time, will execute judgment on him and on his +house.” + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + + The hour is nigh: now hearts beat high; + Each sword is sharpen’d well; + And who dares die, who stoops to fly, + Tomorrow’s light shall tell. + + Sir Edwald. + + +We are now to recall to our reader’s recollection, that Simon Glover and +his fair daughter had been hurried from their residence without having +time to announce to Henry Smith either their departure or the alarming +cause of it. When, therefore, the lover appeared in Curfew Street, on +the morning of their flight, instead of the hearty welcome of the honest +burgher, and the April reception, half joy half censure, which he had +been promised on the part of his lovely daughter, he received only the +astounding intelligence, that her father and she had set off early, on +the summons of a stranger, who had kept himself carefully muffled from +observation. To this, Dorothy, whose talents for forestalling evil, and +communicating her views of it, are known to the reader, chose to add, +that she had no doubt her master and young mistress were bound for the +Highlands, to avoid a visit which had been made since their departure by +two or three apparitors, who, in the name of a Commission appointed by +the King, had searched the house, put seals upon such places as were +supposed to contain papers, and left citations for father and daughter +to appear before the Court of Commission, on a day certain, under pain +of outlawry. All these alarming particulars Dorothy took care to state +in the gloomiest colours, and the only consolation which she afforded +the alarmed lover was, that her master had charged her to tell him to +reside quietly at Perth, and that he should soon hear news of them. This +checked the smith’s first resolve, which was to follow them instantly to +the Highlands, and partake the fate which they might encounter. + +But when he recollected his repeated feuds with divers of the Clan +Quhele, and particularly his personal quarrel with Conachar, who was now +raised to be a high chief, he could not but think, on reflection, that +his intrusion on their place of retirement was more likely to disturb +the safety which they might otherwise enjoy there than be of any service +to them. He was well acquainted with Simon’s habitual intimacy with +the chief of the Clan Quhele, and justly augured that the glover would +obtain protection, which his own arrival might be likely to disturb, +while his personal prowess could little avail him in a quarrel with +a whole tribe of vindictive mountaineers. At the same time his heart +throbbed with indignation, when he thought of Catharine being within the +absolute power of young Conachar, whose rivalry he could not doubt, and +who had now so many means of urging his suit. What if the young chief +should make the safety of the father depend on the favour of the +daughter? He distrusted not Catharine’s affections, but then her mode +of thinking was so disinterested, and her attachment to her father so +tender, that, if the love she bore her suitor was weighed against his +security, or perhaps his life, it was matter of deep and awful doubt +whether it might not be found light in the balance. Tormented by +thoughts on which we need not dwell, he resolved nevertheless to +remain at home, stifle his anxiety as he might, and await the promised +intelligence from the old man. It came, but it did not relieve his +concern. + +Sir Patrick Charteris had not forgotten his promise to communicate to +the smith the plans of the fugitives. But, amid the bustle occasioned by +the movement of troops, he could not himself convey the intelligence. +He therefore entrusted to his agent, Kitt Henshaw, the task of making it +known. But this worthy person, as the reader knows, was in the interest +of Ramorny, whose business it was to conceal from every one, but +especially from a lover so active and daring as Henry, the real place of +Catharine’s residence. Henshaw therefore announced to the anxious smith +that his friend the glover was secure in the Highlands; and though he +affected to be more reserved on the subject of Catharine, he said little +to contradict the belief that she as well as Simon shared the protection +of the Clan Quhele. But he reiterated, in the name of Sir Patrick, +assurances that father and daughter were both well, and that Henry would +best consult his own interest and their safety by remaining quiet and +waiting the course of events. + +With an agonized heart, therefore, Henry Gow determined to remain quiet +till he had more certain intelligence, and employed himself in finishing +a shirt of mail, which he intended should be the best tempered and the +most finely polished that his skilful hands had ever executed. This +exercise of his craft pleased him better than any other occupation which +he could have adopted, and served as an apology for secluding himself +in his workshop, and shunning society, where the idle reports which were +daily circulated served only to perplex and disturb him. He resolved to +trust in the warm regard of Simon, the faith of his daughter, and the +friendship of the provost, who, having so highly commended his valour +in the combat with Bonthron, would never, he thought, desert him at this +extremity of his fortunes. Time, however, passed on day by day; and +it was not till Palm Sunday was near approaching, that Sir Patrick +Charteris, having entered the city to make some arrangements for the +ensuing combat, bethought himself of making a visit to the Smith of the +Wynd. + +He entered his workshop with an air of sympathy unusual to him, and +which made Henry instantly augur that he brought bad news. The smith +caught the alarm, and the uplifted hammer was arrested in its descent +upon the heated iron, while the agitated arm that wielded it, strong +before as that of a giant, became so powerless, that it was with +difficulty Henry was able to place the weapon on the ground, instead of +dropping it from his hand. + +“My poor Henry,” said Sir Patrick, “I bring you but cold news; they are +uncertain, however, and, if true, they are such as a brave man like you +should not take too deeply to heart.” + +“In God’s name, my lord,” said Henry, “I trust you bring no evil news of +Simon Glover or his daughter?” + +“Touching themselves,” said Sir Patrick, “no: they are safe and well. +But as to thee, Henry, my tidings are more cold. Kitt Henshaw has, I +think, apprised thee that I had endeavoured to provide Catharine Glover +with a safe protection in the house of an honourable lady, the Duchess +of Rothsay. But she hath declined the charge, and Catharine hath been +sent to her father in the Highlands. What is worst is to come. Thou +mayest have heard that Gilchrist MacIan is dead, and that his son +Eachin, who was known in Perth as the apprentice of old Simon, by the +name of Conachar, is now the chief of Clan Quhele; and I heard from one +of my domestics that there is a strong rumour among the MacIans that the +young chief seeks the hand of Catharine in marriage. My domestic learned +this--as a secret, however--while in the Breadalbane country, on some +arrangements touching the ensuing combat. The thing is uncertain but, +Henry, it wears a face of likelihood.” + +“Did your lordship’s servant see Simon Glover and his daughter?” said +Henry, struggling for breath, and coughing, to conceal from the provost +the excess of his agitation. + +“He did not,” said Sir Patrick; “the Highlanders seemed jealous, and +refused to permit him to speak to the old man, and he feared to alarm +them by asking to see Catharine. Besides, he talks no Gaelic, nor had +his informer much English, so there may be some mistake in the matter. +Nevertheless, there is such a report, and I thought it best to tell it +you. But you may be well assured that the wedding cannot go on till the +affair of Palm Sunday be over; and I advise you to take no step till we +learn the circumstances of the matter, for certainty is most desirable, +even when it is painful. Go you to the council house,” he added, after a +pause, “to speak about the preparations for the lists in the North Inch? +You will be welcome there.” + +“No, my good lord.” + +“Well, Smith, I judge by your brief answer that you are discomposed with +this matter; but, after all, women are weathercocks, that is the truth +on’t. Solomon and others have proved it before you.” + +And so Sir Patrick Charteris retired, fully convinced he had discharged +the office of a comforter in the most satisfactory manner. + +With very different impressions did the unfortunate lover regard the +tidings and listen to the consoling commentary. + +“The provost,” he said bitterly to himself, “is an excellent man; marry, +he holds his knighthood so high, that, if he speaks nonsense, a poor man +must hold it sense, as he must praise dead ale if it be handed to him +in his lordship’s silver flagon. How would all this sound in another +situation? Suppose I were rolling down the steep descent of the +Corrichie Dhu, and before I came to the edge of the rock, comes my Lord +Provost, and cries: ‘Henry, there is a deep precipice, and I grieve to +say you are in the fair way of rolling over it. But be not downcast, +for Heaven may send a stone or a bush to stop your progress. However, I +thought it would be comfort to you to know the worst, which you will +be presently aware of. I do not know how many hundred feet deep the +precipice descends, but you may form a judgment when you are at the +bottom, for certainty is certainty. And hark ye! when come you to take +a game at bowls?’ And this gossip is to serve instead of any friendly +attempt to save the poor wight’s neck! When I think of this, I could go +mad, seize my hammer, and break and destroy all around me. But I will +be calm; and if this Highland kite, who calls himself a falcon, should +stoop at my turtle dove, he shall know whether a burgess of Perth can +draw a bow or not.” + +It was now the Thursday before the fated Palm Sunday, and the champions +on either side were expected to arrive the next day, that they might +have the interval of Saturday to rest, refresh themselves, and prepare +for the combat. Two or three of each of the contending parties were +detached to receive directions about the encampment of their little +band, and such other instructions as might be necessary to the proper +ordering of the field. Henry was not, therefore, surprised at seeing a +tall and powerful Highlander peering anxiously about the wynd in which +he lived, in the manner in which the natives of a wild country examine +the curiosities of one that is more civilized. The smith’s heart rose +against the man on account of his country, to which our Perth burgher +bore a natural prejudice, and more especially as he observed the +individual wear the plaid peculiar to the Clan Quhele. The sprig of oak +leaves, worked in silk, intimated also that the individual was one +of those personal guards of young Eachin, upon whose exertions in the +future battle so much reliance was placed by those of their clan. + +Having observed so much, Henry withdrew into his smithy, for the sight +of the man raised his passion; and, knowing that the Highlander came +plighted to a solemn combat, and could not be the subject of any +inferior quarrel, he was resolved at least to avoid friendly intercourse +with him. In a few minutes, however, the door of the smithy flew open, +and flattering in his tartans, which greatly magnified his actual size, +the Gael entered with the haughty step of a man conscious of a personal +dignity superior to anything which he is likely to meet with. He stood +looking around him, and seemed to expect to be received with courtesy +and regarded with wonder. But Henry had no sort of inclination to +indulge his vanity and kept hammering away at a breastplate which was +lying upon his anvil as if he were not aware of his visitor’s presence. + +“You are the Gow Chrom?” (the bandy legged smith), said the Highlander. + +“Those that wish to be crook backed call me so,” answered Henry. + +“No offence meant,” said the Highlander; “but her own self comes to buy +an armour.” + +“Her own self’s bare shanks may trot hence with her,” answered Henry; “I +have none to sell.” + +“If it was not within two days of Palm Sunday, herself would make you +sing another song,” retorted the Gael. + +“And being the day it is,” said Henry, with the same contemptuous +indifference, “I pray you to stand out of my light.” + +“You are an uncivil person; but her own self is fir nan ord too; and she +knows the smith is fiery when the iron is hot.” + +“If her nainsell be hammer man herself, her nainsell may make her nain +harness,” replied Henry. + +“And so her nainsell would, and never fash you for the matter; but it +is said, Gow Chrom, that you sing and whistle tunes over the swords and +harnishes that you work, that have power to make the blades cut steel +links as if they were paper, and the plate and mail turn back steel +lances as if they were boddle prins?” + +“They tell your ignorance any nonsense that Christian men refuse to +believe,” said Henry. “I whistle at my work whatever comes uppermost, +like an honest craftsman, and commonly it is the Highlandman’s ‘Och hone +for Houghman stares!’ My hammer goes naturally to that tune.” + +“Friend, it is but idle to spur a horse when his legs are ham shackled,” + said the Highlander, haughtily. “Her own self cannot fight even now, and +there is little gallantry in taunting her thus.” + +“By nails and hammer, you are right there,” said the smith, altering his +tone. “But speak out at once, friend, what is it thou wouldst have of +me? I am in no humour for dallying.” + +“A hauberk for her chief, Eachin MacIan,” said the Highlander. + +“You are a hammer man, you say? Are you a judge of this?” said our +smith, producing from a chest the mail shirt on which he had been lately +employed. + +The Gael handled it with a degree of admiration which had something of +envy in it. He looked curiously at every part of its texture, and at +length declared it the very best piece of armour that he had ever seen. + +“A hundred cows and bullocks and a good drift of sheep would be e’en +ower cheap an offer,” said the Highlandman, by way of tentative; “but +her nainsell will never bid thee less, come by them how she can.” + +“It is a fair proffer,” replied Henry; “but gold nor gear will never buy +that harness. I want to try my own sword on my own armour, and I will +not give that mail coat to any one but who will face me for the best of +three blows and a thrust in the fair field; and it is your chief’s upon +these terms.” + +“Hut, prut, man--take a drink and go to bed,” said the Highlander, in +great scorn. “Are ye mad? Think ye the captain of the Clan Quhele will +be brawling and battling with a bit Perth burgess body like you? Whisht, +man, and hearken. Her nainsell will do ye mair credit than ever belonged +to your kin. She will fight you for the fair harness hersell.” + +“She must first show that she is my match,” said Henry, with a grim +smile. + +“How! I, one of Eachin MacIan’s leichtach, and not your match!” + +“You may try me, if you will. You say you are a fir nan ord. Do you know +how to cast a sledge hammer?” + +“Ay, truly--ask the eagle if he can fly over Farragon.” + +“But before you strive with me, you must first try a cast with one of my +leichtach. Here, Dunter, stand forth for the honour of Perth! And now, +Highlandman, there stands a row of hammers; choose which you will, and +let us to the garden.” + +The Highlander whose name was Norman nan Ord, or Norman of the Hammer, +showed his title to the epithet by selecting the largest hammer of the +set, at which Henry smiled. Dunter, the stout journeyman of the smith, +made what was called a prodigious cast; but the Highlander, making a +desperate effort, threw beyond it by two or three feet, and looked with +an air of triumph to Henry, who again smiled in reply. + +“Will you mend that?” said the Gael, offering our smith the hammer. + +“Not with that child’s toy,” said Henry, “which has scarce weight to +fly against the wind. Jannekin, fetch me Sampson; or one of you help the +boy, for Sampson is somewhat ponderous.” + +The hammer now produced was half as heavy again as that which the +Highlander had selected as one of unusual weight. Norman stood +astonished; but he was still more so when Henry, taking his position, +swung the ponderous implement far behind his right haunch joint, and +dismissed it from his hand as if it had flown from a warlike engine. The +air groaned and whistled as the mass flew through it. Down at length it +came, and the iron head sunk a foot into the earth, a full yard beyond +the cast of Norman. + +The Highlander, defeated and mortified, went to the spot where the +weapon lay, lifted it, poised it in his hand with great wonder, and +examined it closely, as if he expected to discover more in it than a +common hammer. He at length returned it to the owner with a melancholy +smile, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head as the smith asked +him whether he would not mend his cast. + +“Norman has lost too much at the sport already,” he replied. “She has +lost her own name of the Hammerer. But does her own self, the Gow Chrom, +work at the anvil with that horse’s load of iron?” + +“You shall see, brother,” said Henry, leading the way to the smithy. +“Dunter,” he said, “rax me that bar from the furnace”; and uplifting +Sampson, as he called the monstrous hammer, he plied the metal with a +hundred strokes from right to left--now with the right hand, now with +the left, now with both, with so much strength at once and dexterity, +that he worked off a small but beautifully proportioned horseshoe in +half the time that an ordinary smith would have taken for the same +purpose, using a more manageable implement. + +“Oigh--oigh!” said the Highlander, “and what for would you be fighting +with our young chief, who is far above your standard, though you were +the best smith ever wrought with wind and fire?” + +“Hark you!” said Henry; “you seem a good fellow, and I’ll tell you the +truth. Your master has wronged me, and I give him this harness freely +for the chance of fighting him myself.” + +“Nay, if he hath wronged you he must meet you,” said the life guardsman. +“To do a man wrong takes the eagle’s feather out of the chief’s bonnet; +and were he the first in the Highlands, and to be sure so is Eachin, +he must fight the man he has wronged, or else a rose falls from his +chaplet.” + +“Will you move him to this,” said Henry, “after the fight on Sunday?” + +“Oh, her nainsell will do her best, if the hawks have not got her +nainsell’s bones to pick; for you must know, brother, that Clan +Chattan’s claws pierce rather deep.” + +“The armour is your chief’s on that condition,” said Henry; “but I will +disgrace him before king and court if he does not pay me the price.” + +“Deil a fear--deil a fear; I will bring him in to the barrace myself,” + said Norman, “assuredly.” + +“You will do me a pleasure,” replied Henry; “and that you may remember +your promise, I will bestow on you this dirk. Look--if you hold it +truly, and can strike between the mail hood and the collar of your +enemy, the surgeon will be needless.” + +The Highlander was lavish in his expressions of gratitude, and took his +leave. + +“I have given him the best mail harness I ever wrought,” said the smith +to himself, rather repenting his liberality, “for the poor chance +that he will bring his chief into a fair field with me; and then let +Catharine be his who can win her fairly. But much I dread the youth will +find some evasion, unless he have such luck on Palm Sunday as may induce +him to try another combat. That is some hope, however; for I have often, +ere now, seen a raw young fellow shoot up after his first fight from a +dwarf into a giant queller.” + +Thus, with little hope, but with the most determined resolution, Henry +Smith awaited the time that should decide his fate. What made him augur +the worst was the silence both of the glover and of his daughter. + +“They are ashamed,” he said, “to confess the truth to me, and therefore +they are silent.” + +Upon the Friday at noon, the two bands of thirty men each, representing +the contending clans, arrived at the several points where they were to +halt for refreshments. + +The Clan Quhele was entertained hospitably at the rich abbey of Scone, +while the provost regaled their rivals at his Castle of Kinfauns, the +utmost care being taken to treat both parties with the most punctilious +attention, and to afford neither an opportunity of complaining of +partiality. All points of etiquette were, in the mean while, discussed +and settled by the Lord High Constable Errol and the young Earl of +Crawford, the former acting on the part of the Clan Chattan and the +latter patronising the Clan Quhele. Messengers were passing continually +from the one earl to the other, and they held more than: six meetings +within thirty hours, before the ceremonial of the field could be exactly +arranged. + +Meanwhile, in case of revival of ancient quarrel, many seeds of +which existed betwixt the burghers and their mountain neighbours, a +proclamation commanded the citizens not to approach within half a mile +of the place where the Highlanders were quartered; while on their part +the intended combatants were prohibited from approaching Perth without +special license. Troops were stationed to enforce this order, who did +their charge so scrupulously as to prevent Simon Glover himself, burgess +and citizen of Perth, from approaching the town, because he owned having +come thither at the same time with the champions of Eachin MacIan, and +wore a plaid around him of their check or pattern. This interruption +prevented Simon from seeking out Henry Wynd and possessing him with a +true knowledge of all that had happened since their separation, which +intercourse, had it taken place, must have materially altered the +catastrophe of our narrative. + +On Saturday afternoon another arrival took place, which interested the +city almost as much as the preparations for the expected combat. This +was the approach of the Earl Douglas, who rode through the town with a +troop of only thirty horse, but all of whom were knights and gentlemen +of the first consequence. Men’s eyes followed this dreaded peer as they +pursue the flight of an eagle through the clouds, unable to ken the +course of the bird of Jove yet silent, attentive, and as earnest in +observing him as if they could guess the object for which he sweeps +through the firmament; He rode slowly through the city, and passed out +at the northern gate. He next alighted at the Dominican convent and +desired to see the Duke of Albany. The Earl was introduced instantly, +and received by the Duke with a manner which was meant to be graceful +and conciliatory, but which could not conceal both art and inquietude. +When the first greetings were over, the Earl said with great gravity: +“I bring you melancholy news. Your Grace’s royal nephew, the Duke of +Rothsay, is no more, and I fear hath perished by some foul practices.” + +“Practices!” said the Duke’ in confusion--“what practices? Who dared +practise on the heir of the Scottish throne?” + +“‘Tis not for me to state how these doubts arise,” said Douglas; “but +men say the eagle was killed with an arrow fledged from his own wing, +and the oak trunk rent by a wedge of the same wood.” + +“Earl of Douglas,” said the Duke of Albany, “I am no reader of riddles.” + +“Nor am I a propounder of them,” said Douglas, haughtily, “Your Grace +will find particulars in these papers worthy of perusal. I will go for +half an hour to the cloister garden, and then rejoin you.” + +“You go not to the King, my lord?” said Albany. + +“No,” answered Douglas; “I trust your Grace will agree with me that we +should conceal this great family misfortune from our sovereign till the +business of tomorrow be decided.” + +“I willingly agree,” said Albany. “If the King heard of this loss, he +could not witness the combat; and if he appear not in person, these men +are likely to refuse to fight, and the whole work is cast loose. But +I pray you sit down, my lord, while I read these melancholy papers +respecting poor Rothsay.” + +He passed the papers through his hands, turning some over with a hasty +glance, and dwelling on others as if their contents had been of the +last importance. When he had spent nearly a quarter of an hour in this +manner, he raised his eyes, and said very gravely: “My lord, in these +most melancholy documents, it is yet a comfort to see nothing which can +renew the divisions in the King’s councils, which were settled by the +last solemn agreement between your lordship and myself. My unhappy +nephew was by that agreement to be set aside, until time should send him +a graver judgment. He is now removed by Fate, and our purpose in that +matter is anticipated and rendered unnecessary.” + +“If your Grace,” replied the Earl, “sees nothing to disturb the good +understanding which the tranquillity and safety of Scotland require +should exist between us, I am not so ill a friend of my country as to +look closely for such.” + +“I understand you, my Lord of Douglas,” said Albany, eagerly. “You +hastily judged that I should be offended with your lordship for +exercising your powers of lieutenancy, and punishing the detestable +murderers within my territory of Falkland. Credit me, on the contrary, I +am obliged to your lordship for taking out of my hands the punishment of +these wretches, as it would have broken my heart even to have looked +on them. The Scottish Parliament will inquire, doubtless, into this +sacrilegious deed; and happy am I that the avenging sword has been +in the hand of a man so important as your lordship. Our communication +together, as your lordship must well recollect, bore only concerning a +proposed restraint of my unfortunate nephew until the advance of a year +or two had taught him discretion?” + +“Such was certainly your Grace’s purpose, as expressed to me,” said the +Earl; “I can safely avouch it.” + +“Why, then, noble earl, we cannot be censured because villains, for +their own revengeful ends, appear to have engrafted a bloody termination +on our honest purpose?” + +“The Parliament will judge it after their wisdom,” said Douglas. “For my +part, my conscience acquits me.” + +“And mine assoilzies me,” said the Duke with solemnity. “Now, my lord, +touching the custody of the boy James, who succeeds to his father’s +claims of inheritance?” + +“The King must decide it,” said Douglas, impatient of the conference. +“I will consent to his residence anywhere save at Stirling, Doune, or +Falkland.” + +With that he left the apartment abruptly. + +“He is gone,” muttered the crafty Albany, “and he must be my ally, yet +feels himself disposed to be my mortal foe. No matter, Rothsay sleeps +with his fathers, James may follow in time, and then--a crown is the +recompense of my perplexities.” + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + + Thretty for thretty faucht in barreris, + At Sanct Johnstoun on a day besyde the black freris. + + WYNTOUN. + + +Palm Sunday now dawned. At an earlier period of the Christian Church, +the use of any of the days of Passion Week for the purpose of combat +would have been accounted a profanity worthy of excommunication. The +Church of Rome, to her infinite honour, had decided that during the holy +season of Easter, when the redemption of man from his fallen state was +accomplished, the sword of war should be sheathed, and angry monarchs +should respect the season termed the Truce of God. The ferocious +violence of the latter wars betwixt Scotland and England had destroyed +all observance of this decent and religious Ordinance. Very often the +most solemn occasions were chosen by one party for an attack, because +they hoped to find the other engaged in religious duties and unprovided +for defence. Thus the truce, once considered as proper to the season, +had been discontinued; and it became not unusual even to select the +sacred festivals of the church for decision of the trial by combat, to +which this intended contest bore a considerable resemblance. + +On the present occasion, however, the duties of the day were observed +with the usual solemnity, and the combatants themselves took share in +them. Bearing branches of yew in their hands, as the readiest substitute +for palm boughs, they marched respectively to the Dominican and +Carthusian convents, to hear High Mass, and, by a show at least of +devotion, to prepare themselves for the bloody strife of the day. Great +care had of course been taken that, during this march, they should not +even come within the sound of each other’s bagpipes; for it was certain +that, like game cocks exchanging mutual notes of defiance, they would +have sought out and attacked each other before they arrived at the place +of combat. + +The citizens of Perth crowded to see the unusual procession on the +streets, and thronged the churches where the two clans attended their +devotions, to witness their behaviour, and to form a judgment from +their appearance which was most likely to obtain the advantage in +the approaching conflict. Their demeanour in the church, although not +habitual frequenters of places of devotion, was perfectly decorous; and, +notwithstanding their wild and untamed dispositions, there were few of +the mountaineers who seemed affected either with curiosity or wonder. +They appeared to think it beneath their dignity of character to testify +either curiosity or surprise at many things which were probably then +presented to them for the first time. + +On the issue of the combat, few even of the most competent judges dared +venture a prediction; although the great size of Torquil and his eight +stalwart sons induced some who professed themselves judges of the thewes +and sinews of men to incline to ascribe the advantage to the party of +the Clan Quhele. The opinion of the female sex was much decided by +the handsome form, noble countenance, and gallant demeanour of Eachin +MacIan. There were more than one who imagined they had recollection +of his features, but his splendid military attire rendered the humble +glover’s apprentice unrecognisable in the young Highland chief, saving +by one person. + +That person, as may well be supposed, was the Smith of the Wynd, who +had been the foremost in the crowd that thronged to see the gallant +champions of Clan Quhele. It was with mingled feelings of dislike, +jealousy, and something approaching to admiration that he saw the +glover’s apprentice stripped of his mean slough, and blazing forth as a +chieftain, who, by his quick eye and gallant demeanour, the noble shape +of his brow and throat, his splendid arms and well proportioned limbs, +seemed well worthy to hold the foremost rank among men selected to live +or die for the honour of their race. The smith could hardly think that +he looked upon the same passionate boy whom he had brushed off as +he might a wasp that stung him, and, in mere compassion, forebore to +despatch by treading on him. + +“He looks it gallantly with my noble hauberk,” thus muttered Henry to +himself, “the best I ever wrought. Yet, if he and I stood together where +there was neither hand to help nor eye to see, by all that is blessed in +this holy church, the good harness should return to its owner! All that +I am worth would I give for three fair blows on his shoulders to undo my +own best work; but such happiness will never be mine. If he escape from +the conflict, it will be with so high a character for courage, that he +may well disdain to put his fortune, in its freshness, to the risk of +an encounter with a poor burgess like myself. He will fight by his +champion, and turn me over to my fellow craftsman the hammerer, when all +I can reap will be the pleasure of knocking a Highland bullock on the +head. If I could but see Simon Glover! I will to the other church in +quest of him, since for sure he must have come down from the Highlands.” + +The congregation was moving from the church of the Dominicans when the +smith formed this determination, which he endeavoured to carry into +speedy execution, by thrusting through the crowd as hastily as the +solemnity of the place and occasion would permit. In making his way +through the press, he was at one instant carried so close to Eachin +that their eyes encountered. The smith’s hardy and embrowned countenance +coloured up like the heated iron on which he wrought, and retained +its dark red hue for several minutes. Eachin’s features glowed with a +brighter blush of indignation, and a glance of fiery hatred was shot +from his eyes. But the sudden flush died away in ashy paleness, and his +gaze instantly avoided the unfriendly but steady look with which it was +encountered. + +Torquil, whose eye never quitted his foster son, saw his emotion, and +looked anxiously around to discover the cause. But Henry was already +at a distance, and hastening on his way to the Carthusian convent. Here +also the religious service of the day was ended; and those who had so +lately borne palms in honour of the great event which brought peace +on earth and goodwill to the children of men were now streaming to +the place of combat--some prepared to take the lives of their fellow +creatures or to lose their own, others to view the deadly strife with +the savage delight which the heathens took in the contests of their +gladiators. + +The crowd was so great that any other person might well have despaired +of making way through it. But the general deference entertained for +Henry of the Wynd, as the champion of Perth, and the universal sense of +his ability to force a passage, induced all to unite in yielding room +for him, so that he was presently quite close to the warriors of the +Clan Chattan. Their pipers marched at the head of their column. Next +followed the well known banner, displaying a mountain cat rampant, with +the appropriate caution, “Touch not the cat, but (i.e. without) the +glove.” The chief followed with his two handed sword advanced, as if to +protect the emblem of the tribe. He was a man of middle stature, more +than fifty years old, but betraying neither in features nor form any +decay of strength or symptoms of age. His dark red close curled locks +were in part chequered by a few grizzled hairs, but his step and gesture +were as light in the dance, in the chase, or in the battle as if he had +not passed his thirtieth year. His grey eye gleamed with a wild light +expressive of valour and ferocity mingled; but wisdom and experience +dwelt on the expression of his forehead, eyebrows, and lips. The chosen +champions followed by two and two. There was a cast of anxiety on +several of their faces, for they had that morning discovered the absence +of one of their appointed number; and, in a contest so desperate as was +expected, the loss seemed a matter of importance to all save to their +high mettled chief, MacGillie Chattanach. + +“Say nothing to the Saxons of his absence,” said this bold leader, when +the diminution of his force was reported to him. “The false Lowland +tongues might say that one of Clan Chattan was a coward, and perhaps +that the rest favoured his escape, in order to have a pretence to avoid +the battle. I am sure that Ferquhard Day will be found in the ranks ere +we are ready for battle; or, if he should not, am not I man enough for +two of the Clan Quhele? or would we not fight them fifteen to thirty, +rather than lose the renown that this day will bring us?” + +The tribe received the brave speech of their leader with applause, yet +there were anxious looks thrown out in hopes of espying the return of +the deserter; and perhaps the chief himself was the only one of the +determined band who was totally indifferent on the subject. + +They marched on through the streets without seeing anything of Ferquhard +Day, who, many a mile beyond the mountains, was busied in receiving such +indemnification as successful love could bestow for the loss of honour. +MacGillie Chattanach marched on without seeming to observe the absence +of the deserter, and entered upon the North Inch, a beautiful and level +plain, closely adjacent to the city, and appropriated to the martial +exercises of the inhabitants. + +The plain is washed on one side by the deep and swelling Tay. There was +erected within it a strong palisade, inclosing on three sides a space of +one hundred and fifty yards in length and seventy-four yards in width. +The fourth side of the lists was considered as sufficiently fenced +by the river. An amphitheatre for the accommodation of spectators +surrounded the palisade, leaving a large space free to be occupied by +armed men on foot and horseback, and for the more ordinary class of +spectators. At the extremity of the lists which was nearest to the city, +there was a range of elevated galleries for the King and his courtiers, +so highly decorated with rustic treillage, intermingled with gilded +ornaments, that the spot retains to this day the name of the Golden, or +Gilded, Arbour. + +The mountain minstrelsy, which sounded the appropriate pibrochs or +battle tunes of the rival confederacies, was silent when they entered on +the Inch, for such was the order which had been given. Two stately but +aged warriors, each bearing the banner of his tribe, advanced to the +opposite extremities of the lists, and, pitching their standards into +the earth, prepared to be spectators of a fight in which they were not +to join. The pipers, who were also to be neutral in the strife, took +their places by their respective brattachs. + +The multitude received both bands with the same general shout with which +on similar occasions they welcome those from whose exertion they expect +amusement, or what they term sport. The destined combatants returned +no answer to this greeting, but each party advanced to the opposite +extremities of the lists, where were entrances by which they were to be +admitted to the interior. A strong body of men at arms guarded either +access; and the Earl Marshal at the one and the Lord High Constable at +the other carefully examined each individual, to see whether he had the +appropriate arms, being steel cap, mail shirt, two handed sword, and +dagger. They also examined the numbers of each party; and great was the +alarm among the multitude when the Earl of Errol held up his hand and +cried: “Ho! The combat cannot proceed, for the Clan Chattan lack one of +their number.” + +“What reek of that?” said the young Earl of Crawford; “they should have +counted better ere they left home.” + +The Earl Marshal, however, agreed with the Constable that the fight +could not proceed until the inequality should be removed; and a general +apprehension was excited in the assembled multitude that, after all the +preparation, there would be no battle. + +Of all present there were only two perhaps who rejoiced at the prospect +of the combat being adjourned, and these were the captain of the Clan +Quhele and the tender hearted King Robert. Meanwhile the two chiefs, +each attended by a special friend and adviser, met in the midst of the +lists, having, to assist them in determining what was to be done, the +Earl Marshal, the Lord High Constable, the Earl of Crawford, and Sir +Patrick Charteris. The chief of the Clan Chattan declared himself +willing and desirous of fighting upon the spot, without regard to the +disparity of numbers. + +“That,” said Torquil of the Oak, “Clan Quhele will never consent to. +You can never win honour from us with the sword, and you seek but a +subterfuge, that you may say when you are defeated, as you know you will +be, that it was for want of the number of your band fully counted out. +But I make a proposal: Ferquhard Day was the youngest of your band, +Eachin MacIan is the youngest of ours; we will set him aside in place of +the man who has fled from the combat.” + +“A most unjust and unequal proposal,” exclaimed Toshach Beg, the second, +as he might be termed, of MacGillie Chattanach. “The life of the chief +is to the clan the breath of our nostrils, nor will we ever consent that +our chief shall be exposed to dangers which the captain of Clan Quhele +does not share.” + +Torquil saw with deep anxiety that his plan was about to fail when the +objection was made to Hector’s being withdrawn from the battle, and +he was meditating how to support his proposal, when Eachin himself +interfered. His timidity, it must be observed, was not of that sordid +and selfish nature which induces those who are infected by it calmly +to submit to dishonour rather than risk danger. On the contrary, he was +morally brave, though constitutionally timid, and the shame of avoiding +the combat became at the moment more powerful than the fear of facing +it. + +“I will not hear,” he said, “of a scheme which will leave my sword +sheathed during this day’s glorious combat. If I am young in arms, there +are enough of brave men around me whom I may imitate if I cannot equal.” + +He spoke these words in a spirit which imposed on Torquil, and perhaps +on the young chief himself. + +“Now, God bless his noble heart!” said the foster father to himself. +“I was sure the foul spell would be broken through, and that the tardy +spirit which besieged him would fly at the sound of the pipe and the +first flutter of the brattach!” + +“Hear me, Lord Marshal,” said the Constable. “The hour of combat may not +be much longer postponed, for the day approaches to high noon. Let the +chief of Clan Chattan take the half hour which remains, to find, if he +can, a substitute for this deserter; if he cannot, let them fight as +they stand.” + +“Content I am,” said the Marshal, “though, as none of his own clan are +nearer than fifty miles, I see not how MacGillis Chattanach is to find +an auxiliary.” + +“That is his business,” said the High Constable; “but, if he offers a +high reward, there are enough of stout yeomen surrounding the lists, +who will be glad enough to stretch their limbs in such a game as is +expected. I myself, did my quality and charge permit, would blythely +take a turn of work amongst these wild fellows, and think it fame won.” + +They communicated their decision to the Highlanders, and the chief of +the Clan Chattan replied: “You have judged unpartially and nobly, my +lords, and I deem myself obliged to follow your direction. So make +proclamation, heralds, that, if any one will take his share with Clan +Chattan of the honours and chances of this day, he shall have present +payment of a gold crown, and liberty to fight to the death in my ranks.” + +“You are something chary of your treasure, chief,” said the Earl +Marshal: “a gold crown is poor payment for such a campaign as is before +you.” + +“If there be any man willing to fight for honour,” replied MacGillis +Chattanach, “the price will be enough; and I want not the service of a +fellow who draws his sword for gold alone.” + +The heralds had made their progress, moving half way round the lists, +stopping from time to time to make proclamation as they had been +directed, without the least apparent disposition on the part of any one +to accept of the proffered enlistment. Some sneered at the poverty of +the Highlanders, who set so mean a price upon such a desperate service. +Others affected resentment, that they should esteem the blood of +citizens so lightly. None showed the slightest intention to undertake +the task proposed, until the sound of the proclamation reached Henry of +the Wynd, as he stood without the barrier, speaking from time to time +with Baillie Craigdallie, or rather listening vaguely to what the +magistrate was saying to him. + +“Ha! what proclaim they?” he cried out. + +“A liberal offer on the part of MacGillie Chattanach,” said the host of +the Griffin, “who proposes a gold crown to any one who will turn wildcat +for the day, and be killed a little in his service! That’s all.” + +“How!” exclaimed the smith, eagerly, “do they make proclamation for a +man to fight against the Clan Quhele?” + +“Ay, marry do they,” said Griffin; “but I think they will find no such +fools in Perth.” + +He had hardly said the word, when he beheld the smith clear the barriers +at a single bound and alight in the lists, saying: “Here am I, sir +herald, Henry of the Wynd, willing to battle on the part of the Clan +Chattan.” + +A cry of admiration ran through the multitude, while the grave burghers, +not being able to conceive the slightest reason for Henry’s behaviour, +concluded that his head must be absolutely turned with the love of +fighting. The provost was especially shocked. + +“Thou art mad,” he said, “Henry! Thou hast neither two handed sword nor +shirt of mail.” + +“Truly no,” said Henry, “for I parted with a mail shirt, which I had +made for myself, to yonder gay chief of the Clan Quhele, who will soon +find on his shoulders with what sort of blows I clink my rivets! As for +two handed sword, why, this boy’s brand will serve my turn till I can +master a heavier one.” + +“This must not be,” said Errol. “Hark thee, armourer, by St. Mary, thou +shalt have my Milan hauberk and good Spanish sword.” + +“I thank your noble earlship, Sir Gilbert Hay, but the yoke with which +your brave ancestor turned the battle at Loncarty would serve my turn +well enough. I am little used to sword or harness that I have not +wrought myself, because I do not well know what blows the one will bear +out without being cracked or the other lay on without snapping.” + +The cry had in the mean while run through the multitude and passed into +the town, that the dauntless smith was about to fight without armour, +when, just as the fated hour was approaching, the shrill voice of a +female was heard screaming for passage through the crowd. The multitude +gave place to her importunity, and she advanced, breathless with haste +under the burden of a mail hauberk and a large two handed sword. The +widow of Oliver Proudfute was soon recognised, and the arms which she +bore were those of the smith himself, which, occupied by her husband on +the fatal evening when he was murdered, had been naturally conveyed +to his house with the dead body, and were now, by the exertions of +his grateful widow, brought to the lists at a moment when such proved +weapons were of the last consequence to their owner. Henry joyfully +received the well known arms, and the widow with trembling haste +assisted in putting them on, and then took leave of him, saying: “God +for the champion of the widow and orphan, and ill luck to all who come +before him!” + +Confident at feeling himself in his well proved armour, Henry shook +himself as if to settle the steel shirt around him, and, unsheathing +the two handed sword, made it flourish over his head, cutting the air +through which it whistled in the form of the figure eight with an ease +and sleight of hand that proved how powerfully and skilfully he could +wield the ponderous weapon. The champions were now ordered to march +in their turns around the lists, crossing so as to avoid meeting each +other, and making obeisance as they passed the Golden Arbour where the +King was seated. + +While this course was performing, most of the spectators were again +curiously comparing the stature, limbs, and sinews of the two parties, +and endeavouring to form a conjecture an to the probable issue of the +combat. The feud of a hundred years, with all its acts of aggression +and retaliation, was concentrated in the bosom of each combatant. Their +countenances seemed fiercely writhen into the wildest expression of +pride, hate, and a desperate purpose of fighting to the very last. + +The spectators murmured a joyful applause, in high wrought expectation +of the bloody game. Wagers were offered and accepted both on the general +issue of the conflict and on the feats of particular champions. The +clear, frank, and elated look of Henry Smith rendered him a general +favourite among the spectators, and odds, to use the modern expression, +were taken that he would kill three of his opponents before he himself +fell. + +Scarcely was the smith equipped for the combat, when the commands of the +chiefs ordered the champions into their places; and at the same moment +Henry heard the voice of Simon Glover issuing from the crowd, who were +now silent with expectation, and calling on him: “Harry Smith--Harry +Smith, what madness hath possessed thee?” + +“Ay, he wishes to save his hopeful son in law that is, or is to be, from +the smith’s handling,” was Henry’s first thought; his second was to turn +and speak with him; and his third, that he could on no pretext desert +the band which he had joined, or even seem desirous to delay the fight, +consistently with honour. + +He turned himself, therefore, to the business of the hour. Both parties +were disposed by the respective chiefs in three lines, each containing +ten men. They were arranged with such intervals between each individual +as offered him scope to wield his sword, the blade of which was five +feet long, not including the handle. The second and third lines were +to come up as reserves, in case the first experienced disaster. On the +right of the array of Clan Quhele, the chief, Eachin MacIan, placed +himself in the second line betwixt two of his foster brothers. Four of +them occupied the right of the first line, whilst the father and +two others protected the rear of the beloved chieftain. Torquil, in +particular, kept close behind, for the purpose of covering him. Thus +Eachin stood in the centre of nine of the strongest men of his band, +having four especial defenders in front, one on each hand, and three in +his rear. + +The line of the Clan Chattan was arranged in precisely the same order, +only that the chief occupied the centre of the middle rank, instead of +being on the extreme right. This induced Henry Smith, who saw in the +opposing bands only one enemy, and that was the unhappy Eachin, to +propose placing himself on the left of the front rank of the Clan +Chattan. But the leader disapproved of this arrangement; and having +reminded Henry that he owed him obedience, as having taken wages at his +hand, he commanded him to occupy the space in the third line immediately +behind himself--a post of honour, certainly, which Henry could not +decline, though he accepted of it with reluctance. + +When the clans were thus drawn up opposed to each other, they intimated +their feudal animosity and their eagerness to engage by a wild scream, +which, uttered by the Clan Quhele, was answered and echoed back by +the Clan Chattan, the whole at the same time shaking their swords and +menacing each other, as if they meant to conquer the imagination of +their opponents ere they mingled in the actual strife. + +At this trying moment, Torquil, who had never feared for himself, was +agitated with alarm on the part of his dault, yet consoled by observing +that he kept a determined posture, and that the few words which he spoke +to his clan were delivered boldly, and well calculated to animate them +to combat, as expressing his resolution to partake their fate in death +or victory. But there was no time for further observation. The trumpets +of the King sounded a charge, the bagpipes blew up their screaming and +maddening notes, and the combatants, starting forward in regular order, +and increasing their pace till they came to a smart run, met together +in the centre of the ground, as a furious land torrent encounters an +advancing tide. + +For an instant or two the front lines, hewing at each other with their +long swords, seemed engaged in a succession of single combats; but the +second and third ranks soon came up on either side, actuated alike by +the eagerness of hatred and the thirst of honour, pressed through the +intervals, and rendered the scene a tumultuous chaos, over which the +huge swords rose and sunk, some still glittering, others streaming with +blood, appearing, from the wild rapidity with which they were swayed, +rather to be put in motion by some complicated machinery than to +be wielded by human hands. Some of the combatants, too much crowded +together to use those long weapons, had already betaken themselves to +their poniards, and endeavoured to get within the sword sweep of those +opposed to them. In the mean time, blood flowed fast, and the groans of +those who fell began to mingle with the cries of those who fought; for, +according to the manner of the Highlanders at all times, they could +hardly be said to shout, but to yell. Those of the spectators whose +eyes were best accustomed to such scenes of blood and confusion could +nevertheless discover no advantage yet acquired by either party. The +conflict swayed, indeed, at different intervals forwards or backwards, +but it was only in momentary superiority, which the party who acquired +it almost instantly lost by a corresponding exertion on the other side. +The wild notes of the pipers were still heard above the tumult, and +stimulated to farther exertions the fury of the combatants. + +At once, however, and as if by mutual agreement, the instruments sounded +a retreat; it was expressed in wailing notes, which seemed to imply a +dirge for the fallen. The two parties disengaged themselves from each +other, to take breath for a few minutes. The eyes of the spectators +greedily surveyed the shattered array of the combatants as they drew +off from the contest, but found it still impossible to decide which had +sustained the greater loss. It seemed as if the Clan Chattan had lost +rather fewer men than their antagonists; but in compensation, the bloody +plaids and skirts of their party (for several on both sides had thrown +their mantles away) showed more wounded men than the Clan Quhele. About +twenty of both sides lay on the field dead or dying; and arms and legs +lopped off, heads cleft to the chin, slashes deep through the shoulder +into the breast, showed at once the fury of the combat, the ghastly +character of the weapons used, and the fatal strength of the arms which +wielded them. The chief of the Clan Chattan had behaved himself with +the most determined courage, and was slightly wounded. Eachin also had +fought with spirit, surrounded by his bodyguard. His sword was bloody, +his bearing bold and warlike; and he smiled when old Torquil, folding +him in his arms, loaded him with praises and with blessings. + +The two chiefs, after allowing their followers to breathe for the space +of about ten minutes, again drew up in their files, diminished by nearly +one third of their original number. They now chose their ground nearer +to the river than that on which they had formerly encountered, which +was encumbered with the wounded and the slain. Some of the former were +observed, from time to time, to raise themselves to gain a glimpse of +the field, and sink back, most of them to die from the effusion of blood +which poured from the terrific gashes inflicted by the claymore. + +Harry Smith was easily distinguished by his Lowland habit, as well as +his remaining on the spot where they had first encountered, where he +stood leaning on a sword beside a corpse, whose bonneted head, carried +to ten yards’ distance from the body by the force of the blow which had +swept it off, exhibited the oak leaf, the appropriate ornament of the +bodyguard of Eachin MacIan. Since he slew this man, Henry had not struck +a blow, but had contented himself with warding off many that were dealt +at himself, and some which were aimed at the chief. MacGillie Chattanach +became alarmed, when, having given the signal that his men should again +draw together, he observed that his powerful recruit remained at a +distance from the ranks, and showed little disposition to join them. + +“What ails thee, man?” said the chief. “Can so strong a body have a mean +and cowardly spirit? Come, and make in to the combat.” + +“You as good as called me hireling but now,” replied Henry. “If I am +such,” pointing to the headless corpse, “I have done enough for my day’s +wage.” + +“He that serves me without counting his hours,” replied the chief, “I +reward him without reckoning wages.” + +“Then,” said the smith, “I fight as a volunteer, and in the post which +best likes me.” + +“All that is at your own discretion,” replied MacGillis Chattanach, who +saw the prudence of humouring an auxiliary of such promise. + +“It is enough,” said Henry; and, shouldering his heavy weapon, he joined +the rest of the combatants with alacrity, and placed himself opposite to +the chief of the Clan Quhele. + +It was then, for the first time, that Eachin showed some uncertainty. +He had long looked up to Henry as the best combatant which Perth and its +neighbourhood could bring into the lists. His hatred to him as a rival +was mingled with recollection of the ease with which he had once, though +unarmed, foiled his own sudden and desperate attack; and when he beheld +him with his eyes fixed in his direction, the dripping sword in his +hand, and obviously meditating an attack on him individually, his +courage fell, and he gave symptoms of wavering, which did not escape his +foster father. + +It was lucky for Eachin that Torquil was incapable, from the formation +of his own temper, and that of those with whom he had lived, to conceive +the idea of one of his own tribe, much less of his chief and foster +son, being deficient in animal courage. Could he have imagined this, his +grief and rage might have driven him to the fierce extremity of taking +Eachin’s life, to save him from staining his honour. But his mind +rejected the idea that his dault was a personal coward, as something +which was monstrous and unnatural. That he was under the influence of +enchantment was a solution which superstition had suggested, and he now +anxiously, but in a whisper, demanded of Hector: “Does the spell now +darken thy spirit, Eachin?” + +“Yes, wretch that I am,” answered the unhappy youth; “and yonder stands +the fell enchanter!” + +“What!” exclaimed Torquil, “and you wear harness of his making? Norman, +miserable boy, why brought you that accursed mail?” + +“If my arrow has flown astray, I can but shoot my life after it,” + answered Norman nan Ord. “Stand firm, you shall see me break the spell.” + +“Yes, stand firm,” said Torquil. “He may be a fell enchanter; but my own +ear has heard, and my own tongue has told, that Eachin shall leave the +battle whole, free, and unwounded; let us see the Saxon wizard who can +gainsay that. He may be a strong man, but the fair forest of the oak +shall fall, stock and bough, ere he lay a finger on my dault. Ring +around him, my sons; bas air son Eachin!” + +The sons of Torquil shouted back the words, which signify, “Death for +Hector.” + +Encouraged by their devotion, Eachin renewed his spirit, and called +boldly to the minstrels of his clan, “Seid suas” that is, “Strike up.” + +The wild pibroch again sounded the onset; but the two parties approached +each other more slowly than at first, as men who knew and respected +each other’s valour. Henry Wynd, in his impatience to begin the contest, +advanced before the Clan Chattan and signed to Eachin to come on. +Norman, however, sprang forward to cover his foster brother, and there +was a general, though momentary, pause, as if both parties were willing +to obtain an omen of the fate of the day from the event of this duel. +The Highlander advanced, with his large sword uplifted, as in act to +strike; but, just as he came within sword’s length, he dropt the long +and cumbrous weapon, leapt lightly over the smith’s sword, as he fetched +a cut at him, drew his dagger, and, being thus within Henry’s guard, +struck him with the weapon (his own gift) on the side of the throat, +directing the blow downwards into the chest, and calling aloud, at the +same time, “You taught me the stab!” + +But Henry Wynd wore his own good hauberk, doubly defended with a lining +of tempered steel. Had he been less surely armed, his combats had been +ended for ever. Even as it was, he was slightly wounded. + +“Fool!” he replied, striking Norman a blow with the pommel of his long +sword, which made him stagger backwards, “you were taught the thrust, +but not the parry”; and, fetching a blow at his antagonist, which cleft +his skull through the steel cap, he strode over the lifeless body to +engage the young chief, who now stood open before him. + +But the sonorous voice of Torquil thundered out, “Far eil air son +Eachin!” (Another for Hector!) and the two brethren who flanked their +chief on each side thrust forward upon Henry, and, striking both at +once, compelled him to keep the defensive. + +“Forward, race of the tiger cat!” cried MacGillie Chattanach. “Save the +brave Saxon; let these kites feel your talons!” + +Already much wounded, the chief dragged himself up to the smith’s +assistance, and cut down one of the leichtach, by whom he was assailed. +Henry’s own good sword rid him of the other. + +“Reist air son Eachin!” (Again for Hector!) shouted the faithful foster +father. + +“Bas air son Eachin!” (Death for Hector!) answered two more of his +devoted sons, and opposed themselves to the fury of the smith and those +who had come to his aid; while Eachin, moving towards the left wing of +the battle, sought less formidable adversaries, and again, by some show +of valour, revived the sinking hopes of his followers. The two children +of the oak, who had covered, this movement, shared the fate of their +brethren; for the cry of the Clan Chattan chief had drawn to that part +of the field some of his bravest warriors. The sons of Torquil did not +fall unavenged, but left dreadful marks of their swords on the persons +of the dead and living. But the necessity of keeping their most +distinguished soldiers around the person of their chief told to +disadvantage on the general event of the combat; and so few were now +the number who remained fighting, that it was easy to see that the Clan +Chattan had fifteen of their number left, though most of them wounded, +and that of the Clan Quhele only about ten remained, of whom there were +four of the chief’s bodyguard, including Torquil himself. + +They fought and struggled on, however, and as their strength decayed, +their fury seemed to increase. Henry Wynd, now wounded in many places, +was still bent on breaking through, or exterminating, the band of bold +hearts who continued to fight around the object of his animosity. +But still the father’s shout of “Another for Hector!” was cheerfully +answered by the fatal countersign, “Death for Hector!” and though the +Clan Quhele were now outnumbered, the combat seemed still dubious. It +was bodily lassitude alone that again compelled them to another pause. + +The Clan Chattan were then observed to be twelve in number, but two or +three were scarce able to stand without leaning on their swords. Five +were left of the Clan Quhele; Torquil and his youngest son were of the +number, both slightly wounded. Eachin alone had, from the vigilance +used to intercept all blows levelled against his person, escaped without +injury. The rage of both parties had sunk, through exhaustion, into +sullen desperation. They walked staggering, as if in their sleep, +through the carcasses of the slain, and gazed on them, as if again to +animate their hatred towards their surviving enemies by viewing the +friends they had lost. + +The multitude soon after beheld the survivors of the desperate conflict +drawing together to renew the exterminating feud on the banks of the +river, as the spot least slippery with blood, and less encumbered with +the bodies of the slain. + +“For God’s sake--for the sake of the mercy which we daily pray for,” + said the kind hearted old King to the Duke of Albany, “let this be +ended! Wherefore should these wretched rags and remnants of humanity be +suffered to complete their butchery? Surely they will now be ruled, and +accept of peace on moderate terms?” + +“Compose yourself, my liege,” said his brother. “These men are the pest +of the Lowlands. Both chiefs are still living; if they go back unharmed, +the whole day’s work is cast away. Remember your promise to the council, +that you would not cry ‘hold.’” + +“You compel me to a great crime, Albany, both as a king, who should +protect his subjects, and as a Christian man, who respects the brother +of his faith.” + +“You judge wrong, my lord,” said the Duke: “these are not loving +subjects, but disobedient rebels, as my Lord of Crawford can bear +witness; and they are still less Christian men, for the prior of the +Dominicans will vouch for me that they are more than half heathen.” + +The King sighed deeply. “You must work your pleasure, and are too wise +for me to contend with. I can but turn away and shut my eyes from the +sights and sounds of a carnage which makes me sicken. But well I know +that God will punish me even for witnessing this waste of human life.” + +“Sound, trumpets,” said Albany; “their wounds will stiffen if they dally +longer.” + +While this was passing, Torquil was embracing and encouraging his young +chief. + +“Resist the witchcraft but a few minutes longer! Be of good cheer, you +will come off without either scar or scratch, wem or wound. Be of good +cheer!” + +“How can I be of good cheer,” said Eachin, “while my brave kinsmen have +one by one died at my feet--died all for me, who could never deserve the +least of their kindness?” + +“And for what were they born, save to die for their chief?” said +Torquil, composedly. “Why lament that the arrow returns not to the +quiver, providing it hit the mark? Cheer up yet. Here are Tormot and I +but little hurt, while the wildcats drag themselves through the plain +as if they were half throttled by the terriers. Yet one brave stand, and +the day shall be your own, though it may well be that you alone remain +alive. Minstrels, sound the gathering.” + +The pipers on both sides blew their charge, and the combatants again +mingled in battle, not indeed with the same strength, but with unabated +inveteracy. They were joined by those whose duty it was to have remained +neuter, but who now found themselves unable to do so. The two old +champions who bore the standards had gradually advanced from the +extremity of the lists, and now approached close to the immediate scene +of action. When they beheld the carnage more nearly, they were mutually +impelled by the desire to revenge their brethren, or not to survive +them. They attacked each other furiously with the lances to which the +standards were attached, closed after exchanging several deadly thrusts, +then grappled in close strife, still holding their banners, until at +length, in the eagerness of their conflict, they fell together into the +Tay, and were found drowned after the combat, closely locked in each +other’s arms. The fury of battle, the frenzy of rage and despair, +infected next the minstrels. The two pipers, who, during the conflict, +had done their utmost to keep up the spirits of their brethren, now saw +the dispute well nigh terminated for want of men to support it. They +threw down their instruments, rushed desperately upon each other with +their daggers, and each being more intent on despatching his opponent +than in defending himself, the piper of Clan Quhele was almost instantly +slain and he of Clan Chattan mortally wounded. The last, nevertheless, +again grasped his instrument, and the pibroch of the clan yet poured +its expiring notes over the Clan Chattan, while the dying minstrel had +breath to inspire it. The instrument which he used, or at least that +part of it called the chanter, is preserved in the family of a Highland +chief to this day, and is much honoured under the name of the federan +dhu, or, “black chanter.”’ + +Meanwhile, in the final charge, young Tormot, devoted, like his +brethren, by his father Torquil to the protection of his chief, had +been mortally wounded by the unsparing sword of the smith. The other +two remaining of the Clan Quhele had also fallen, and Torquil, with his +foster son and the wounded Tormot, forced to retreat before eight or ten +of the Clan Chattan, made a stand on the bank of the river, while their +enemies were making such exertions as their wounds would permit to come +up with them. Torquil had just reached the spot where he had resolved +to make the stand, when the young Tormot dropped and expired. His death +drew from his father the first and only sigh which he had breathed +throughout the eventful day. + +“My son Tormot!” he said, “my youngest and dearest! But if I save +Hector, I save all. Now, my darling dault, I have done for thee all that +man may, excepting the last. Let me undo the clasps of that ill omened +armour, and do thou put on that of Tormot; it is light, and will fit +thee well. While you do so, I will rush on these crippled men, and make +what play with them I can. I trust I shall have but little to do, for +they are following each other like disabled steers. At least, darling of +my soul, if I am unable to save thee, I can show thee how a man should +die.” + +While Torquil thus spoke, he unloosed the clasps of the young chief’s +hauberk, in the simple belief that he could thus break the meshes which +fear and necromancy had twined about his heart. + +“My father--my father--my more than parent,” said the unhappy Eachin, +“stay with me! With you by my side, I feel I can fight to the last.” + +“It is impossible,” said Torquil. “I will stop them coming up, while you +put on the hauberk. God eternally bless thee, beloved of my soul!” + +And then, brandishing his sword, Torquil of the Oak rushed forward +with the same fatal war cry which had so often sounded over that bloody +field, “Bas air son Eachin!” The words rung three times in a voice of +thunder; and each time that he cried his war shout he struck down one of +the Clan Chattan as he met them successively straggling towards him. + +“Brave battle, hawk--well flown, falcon!” exclaimed the multitude, +as they witnessed exertions which seemed, even at this last hour, to +threaten a change of the fortunes of the day. Suddenly these cries were +hushed into silence, and succeeded by a clashing of swords so dreadful, +as if the whole conflict had recommenced in the person of Henry Wynd and +Torquil of the Oak. They cut, foined, hewed, and thrust as if they had +drawn their blades for the first time that day; and their inveteracy was +mutual, for Torquil recognised the foul wizard who, as he supposed, had +cast a spell over his child; and Henry saw before him the giant who, +during the whole conflict, had interrupted the purpose for which alone +he had joined the combatants--that of engaging in single combat with +Hector. They fought with an equality which, perhaps, would not have +existed, had not Henry, more wounded than his antagonist, been somewhat +deprived of his usual agility. + +Meanwhile Eachin, finding himself alone, after a disorderly and vain +attempt to put on his foster brother’s harness, became animated by an +emotion of shame and despair, and hurried forward to support his foster +father in the terrible struggle, ere some other of the Clan Chattan +should come up. When he was within five yards, and sternly determined +to take his share in the death fight, his foster father fell, cleft +from the collarbone well nigh to the heart, and murmuring with his last +breath, “Bas air son Eachin!” The unfortunate youth saw the fall of +his last friend, and at the same moment beheld the deadly enemy who had +hunted him through the whole field standing within sword’s point of +him, and brandishing the huge weapon which had hewed its way to his +life through so many obstacles. Perhaps this was enough to bring his +constitutional timidity to its highest point; or perhaps he recollected +at the same moment that he was without defensive armour, and that a +line of enemies, halting indeed and crippled, but eager for revenge and +blood, were closely approaching. It is enough to say, that his heart +sickened, his eyes darkened, his ears tingled, his brain turned giddy, +all other considerations were lost in the apprehension of instant death; +and, drawing one ineffectual blow at the smith, he avoided that which +was aimed at him in return by bounding backward; and, ere the former +could recover his weapon, Eachin had plunged into the stream of the Tay. +A roar of contumely pursued him as he swam across the river, although, +perhaps, not a dozen of those who joined in it would have behaved +otherwise in the like circumstances. Henry looked after the fugitive in +silence and surprise, but could not speculate on the consequences of +his flight, on account of the faintness which seemed to overpower him +as soon as the animation of the contest had subsided. He sat down on +the grassy bank, and endeavoured to stanch such of his wounds as were +pouring fastest. + +The victors had the general meed of gratulation. The Duke of Albany and +others went down to survey the field; and Henry Wynd was honoured with +particular notice. + +“If thou wilt follow me, good fellow,” said the Black Douglas, “I +will change thy leathern apron for a knight’s girdle, and thy burgage +tenement for an hundred pound land to maintain thy rank withal.” + +“I thank you humbly, my lord,” said the smith, dejectedly, “but I have +shed blood enough already, and Heaven has punished me by foiling the +only purpose for which I entered the combat.” + +“How, friend?” said Douglas. “Didst thou not fight for the Clan Chattan, +and have they not gained a glorious conquest?” + +“I fought for my own hand,” [meaning, I did such a thing for my own +pleasure, not for your profit] said the smith, indifferently; and the +expression is still proverbial in Scotland. + +The good King Robert now came up on an ambling palfrey, having entered +the barriers for the purpose of causing the wounded to be looked after. + +“My lord of Douglas,” he said, “you vex the poor man with temporal +matters when it seems he may have short timer to consider those that +are spiritual. Has he no friends here who will bear him where his bodily +wounds and the health of his soul may be both cared for?” + +“He hath as many friends as there are good men in Perth,” said Sir +Patrick Charteris, “and I esteem myself one of the closest.” + +“A churl will savour of churl’s kind,” said the haughty Douglas, turning +his horse aside; “the proffer of knighthood from the sword of Douglas +had recalled him from death’s door, had there been a drop of gentle +blood in his body.” + +Disregarding the taunt of the mighty earl, the Knight of Kinfauns +dismounted to take Henry in his arms, as he now sunk back from very +faintness. But he was prevented by Simon Glover, who, with other +burgesses of consideration, had now entered the barrace. + +“Henry, my beloved son Henry!” said the old man. “Oh, what tempted you +to this fatal affray? Dying--speechless?” + +“No--not speechless,” said Henry. “Catharine--” He could utter no more. + +“Catharine is well, I trust, and shall be thine--that is, if--” + +“If she be safe, thou wouldst say, old man,” said the Douglas, who, +though something affronted at Henry’s rejection of his offer, was too +magnanimous not to interest himself in what was passing. “She is safe, +if Douglas’s banner can protect her--safe, and shall be rich. Douglas +can give wealth to those who value it more than honour.” + +“For her safety, my lord, let the heartfelt thanks and blessings of a +father go with the noble Douglas. For wealth, we are rich enough. Gold +cannot restore my beloved son.” + +“A marvel!” said the Earl: “a churl refuses nobility, a citizen despises +gold!” + +“Under your lordship’s favour,” said Sir Patrick, “I, who am knight +and noble, take license to say, that such a brave man as Henry Wynd may +reject honourable titles, such an honest man as this reverend citizen +may dispense with gold.” + +“You do well, Sir Patrick, to speak for your town, and I take no +offence,” said the Douglas. “I force my bounty on no one. But,” he +added, in a whisper to Albany, “your Grace must withdraw the King from +this bloody sight, for he must know that tonight which will ring over +broad Scotland when tomorrow dawns. This feud is ended. Yet even I +grieve that so many brave Scottishmen lie here slain, whose brands might +have decided a pitched field in their country’s cause.” + +With dignity King Robert was withdrawn from the field, the tears running +down his aged cheeks and white beard, as he conjured all around him, +nobles and priests, that care should be taken for the bodies and souls +of the few wounded survivors, and honourable burial rendered to +the slain. The priests who were present answered zealously for both +services, and redeemed their pledge faithfully and piously. + +Thus ended this celebrated conflict of the North Inch of Perth. Of +sixty-four brave men (the minstrels and standard bearers included) +who strode manfully to the fatal field, seven alone survived, who were +conveyed from thence in litters, in a case little different from the +dead and dying around them, and mingled with them in the sad procession +which conveyed them from the scene of their strife. Eachin alone had +left it void of wounds and void of honour. + +It remains but to say, that not a man of the Clan Quhele survived the +bloody combat except the fugitive chief; and the consequence of the +defeat was the dissolution of their confederacy. The clans of which it +consisted are now only matter of conjecture to the antiquary, for, after +this eventful contest, they never assembled under the same banner. The +Clan Chattan, on the other hand, continued to increase and flourish; and +the best families of the Northern Highlands boast their descent from the +race of the Cat a Mountain. + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + + +While the King rode slowly back to the convent which he then occupied, +Albany, with a discomposed aspect and faltering voice, asked the Earl of +Douglas: “Will not your lordship, who saw this most melancholy scene at +Falkland, communicate the tidings to my unhappy brother?” + +“Not for broad Scotland,” said the Douglas. “I would sooner bare my +breast, within flight shot, as a butt to an hundred Tynedale bowmen. No, +by St. Bride of Douglas! I could but say I saw the ill fated youth dead. +How he came by his death, your Grace can perhaps better explain. Were it +not for the rebellion of March and the English war, I would speak my own +mind of it.” + +So saying, and making his obeisance to the King, the Earl rode off to +his own lodgings, leaving Albany to tell his tale as he best could. + +“The rebellion and the English war!” said the Duke to himself. “Ay, and +thine own interest, haughty earl, which, imperious as thou art, thou +darest not separate from mine. Well, since the task falls on me, I must +and will discharge it.” + +He followed the King into his apartment. The King looked at him with +surprise after he had assumed his usual seat. + +“Thy countenance is ghastly, Robin,” said the King. “I would thou +wouldst think more deeply when blood is to be spilled, since its +consequences affect thee so powerfully. And yet, Robin, I love thee the +better that thy kind nature will sometimes show itself, even through thy +reflecting policy.” + +“I would to Heaven, my royal brother,” said Albany, with a voice half +choked, “that the bloody field we have seen were the worst we had to see +or hear of this day. I should waste little sorrow on the wild kerne who +lie piled on it like carrion. But--” he paused. + +“How!” exclaimed the King, in terror. “What new evil? Rothsay? It must +be--it is Rothsay! Speak out! What new folly has been done? What fresh +mischance?” + +“My lord--my liege, folly and mischance are now ended with my hapless +nephew.” + +“He is dead!--he is dead!” screamed the agonized parent. “Albany, as +thy brother, I conjure thee! But no, I am thy brother no longer. As thy +king, dark and subtle man, I charge thee to tell the worst.” + +Albany faltered out: “The details are but imperfectly known to me; but +the certainty is, that my unhappy nephew was found dead in his apartment +last night from sudden illness--as I have heard.” + +“Oh, Rothsay!--Oh, my beloved David! Would to God I had died for thee, +my son--my son!” + +So spoke, in the emphatic words of Scripture, the helpless and bereft +father, tearing his grey beard and hoary hair, while Albany, speechless +and conscience struck, did not venture to interrupt the tempest of his +grief. But the agony of the King’s sorrow almost instantly changed to +fury--a mood so contrary to the gentleness and timidity of his nature, +that the remorse of Albany was drowned in his fear. + +“And this is the end,” said the King, “of thy moral saws and religious +maxims! But the besotted father who gave the son into thy hands--who +gave the innocent lamb to the butcher--is a king, and thou shalt know +it to thy cost. Shall the murderer stand in presence of his +brother--stained with the blood of that brother’s son? No! What ho, +without there!--MacLouis!--Brandanes! Treachery! Murder! Take arms, if +you love the Stuart!” + +MacLouis, with several of the guards, rushed into the apartment. + +“Murder and treason!” exclaimed the miserable King. “Brandanes, your +noble Prince--” Here his grief and agitation interrupted for a moment +the fatal information it was his object to convey. At length he resumed +his broken speech: “An axe and a block instantly into the courtyard! +Arrest--” The word choked his utterance. + +“Arrest whom, my noble liege?” said MacLouis, who, observing the King +influenced by a tide of passion so different from the gentleness of his +ordinary demeanour, almost conjectured that his brain had been disturbed +by the unusual horrors of the combat he had witnessed. + +“Whom shall I arrest, my liege?” he replied. “Here is none but your +Grace’s royal brother of Albany.” + +“Most true,” said the King, his brief fit of vindictive passion +soon dying away. “Most true--none but Albany--none but my parent’s +child--none but my brother. O God, enable me to quell the sinful passion +which glows in this bosom. Sancta Maria, ora pro nobis!” + +MacLouis cast a look of wonder towards the Duke of Albany, who +endeavoured to hide his confusion under an affectation of deep sympathy, +and muttered to the officer: “The great misfortune has been too much for +his understanding.” + +“What misfortune, please your Grace?” replied MacLouis. “I have heard of +none.” + +“How! not heard of the death of my nephew Rothsay?” + +“The Duke of Rothsay dead, my Lord of Albany?” exclaimed the faithful +Brandane, with the utmost horror and astonishment. “When, how, and +where?” + +“Two days since--the manner as yet unknown--at Falkland.” + +MacLouis gazed at the Duke for an instant; then, with a kindling eye +and determined look, said to the King, who seemed deeply engaged in his +mental devotion: “My liege! a minute or two since you left a word--one +word--unspoken. Let it pass your lips, and your pleasure is law to your +Brandanes!” + +“I was praying against temptation, MacLouis,” said the heart broken +King, “and you bring it to me. Would you arm a madman with a +drawn weapon? But oh, Albany! my friend--my brother--my bosom +counsellor--how--how camest thou by the heart to do this?” + +Albany, seeing that the King’s mood was softening, replied with more +firmness than before: “My castle has no barrier against the power of +death. I have not deserved the foul suspicions which your Majesty’s +words imply. I pardon them, from the distraction of a bereaved father. +But I am willing to swear by cross and altar, by my share in salvation, +by the souls of our royal parents--” + +“Be silent, Robert!” said the King: “add not perjury to murder. And was +this all done to gain a step nearer to a crown and sceptre? Take them +to thee at once, man; and mayst thou feel as I have done, that they are +both of red hot iron! Oh, Rothsay--Rothsay! thou hast at least escaped +being a king!” + +“My liege,” said MacLouis, “let me remind you that the crown and sceptre +of Scotland are, when your Majesty ceases to bear them, the right of +Prince James, who succeeds to his brother’s rights.” + +“True, MacLouis,” said the King, eagerly, “and will succeed, poor child, +to his brother’s perils! Thanks, MacLouis--thanks. You have reminded +me that I have still work upon earth. Get thy Brandanes under arms with +what speed thou canst. Let no man go with us whose truth is not known to +thee. None in especial who has trafficked with the Duke of Albany--that +man, I mean, who calls himself my brother--and order my litter to +be instantly prepared. We will to Dunbarton, MacLouis, or to Bute. +Precipices, and tides, and my Brandanes’ hearts shall defend the child +till we can put oceans betwixt him and his cruel uncle’s ambition. +Farewell, Robert of Albany--farewell for ever, thou hard hearted, bloody +man! Enjoy such share of power as the Douglas may permit thee. But seek +not to see my face again, far less to approach my remaining child; for, +that hour thou dost, my guards shall have orders to stab thee down with +their partizans! MacLouis, look it be so directed.” + +The Duke of Albany left the presence without attempting further +justification or reply. + +What followed is matter of history. In the ensuing Parliament, the Duke +of Albany prevailed on that body to declare him innocent of the death +of Rothsay, while, at the same time, he showed his own sense of guilt by +taking out a remission or pardon for the offence. The unhappy and aged +monarch secluded himself in his Castle of Rothsay, in Bute, to mourn +over the son he had lost, and watch with feverish anxiety over the life +of him who remained. As the best step for the youthful James’s security, +he sent him to France to receive his education at the court of the +reigning sovereign. But the vessel in which the Prince of Scotland +sailed was taken by an English cruiser, and, although there was a truce +for the moment betwixt the kingdoms, Henry IV ungenerously detained him +a prisoner. This last blow completely broke the heart of the unhappy +King Robert III. Vengeance followed, though with a slow pace, the +treachery and cruelty of his brother. Robert of Albany’s own grey hairs +went, indeed, in peace to the grave, and he transferred the regency +which he had so foully acquired to his son Murdoch. But, nineteen years +after the death of the old King, James I returned to Scotland, and +Duke Murdoch of Albany, with his sons, was brought to the scaffold, in +expiation of his father’s guilt and his own. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + + The honest heart that’s free frae a’ + Intended fraud or guile, + However Fortune kick the ba’, + Has aye some cause to smile. + + BURNS. + + +We now return to the Fair Maid of Perth, who had been sent from the +horrible scene at Falkland by order of the Douglas, to be placed under +the protection of his daughter, the now widowed Duchess of Rothsay. That +lady’s temporary residence was a religious house called Campsie, the +ruins of which still occupy a striking situation on the Tay. It arose on +the summit of a precipitous rock, which descends on the princely river, +there rendered peculiarly remarkable by the cataract called Campsie +Linn, where its waters rush tumultuously over a range of basaltic +rock, which intercepts the current, like a dike erected by human hands. +Delighted with a site so romantic, the monks of the abbey of Cupar +reared a structure there, dedicated to an obscure saint, named St. +Hunnand, and hither they were wont themselves to retire for pleasure or +devotion. It had readily opened its gates to admit the noble lady who +was its present inmate, as the country was under the influence of +the powerful Lord Drummond, the ally of the Douglas. There the Earl’s +letters were presented to the Duchess by the leader of the escort which +conducted Catharine and the glee maiden to Campsie. Whatever reason +she might have to complain of Rothsay, his horrible and unexpected end +greatly shocked the noble lady, and she spent the greater part of the +night in indulging her grief and in devotional exercises. + +On the next morning, which was that of the memorable Palm Sunday, she +ordered Catharine Glover and the minstrel into her presence. The spirits +of both the young women had been much sunk and shaken by the dreadful +scenes in which they had so lately been engaged; and the outward +appearance of the Duchess Marjory was, like that of her father, more +calculated to inspire awe than confidence. She spoke with kindness, +however, though apparently in deep affliction, and learned from them +all which they had to tell concerning the fate of her erring and +inconsiderate husband. She appeared grateful for the efforts which +Catharine and the glee maiden had made, at their own extreme peril, to +save Rothsay from his horrible fate. She invited them to join in her +devotions; and at the hour of dinner gave them her hand to kiss, and +dismissed them to their own refection, assuring both, and Catharine in +particular, of her efficient protection, which should include, she said, +her father’s, and be a wall around them both, so long as she herself +lived. + +They retired from the presence of the widowed Princess, and partook of +a repast with her duennas and ladies, all of whom, amid their profound +sorrow, showed a character of stateliness which chilled the light heart +of the Frenchwoman, and imposed restraint even on the more serious +character of Catharine Glover. The friends, for so we may now term them, +were fain, therefore, to escape from the society of these persons, all +of them born gentlewomen, who thought themselves but ill assorted with +a burgher’s daughter and a strolling glee maiden, and saw them with +pleasure go out to walk in the neighbourhood of the convent. A little +garden, with its bushes and fruit trees, advanced on one side of the +convent, so as to skirt the precipice, from which it was only separated +by a parapet built on the ledge of the rock, so low that the eye might +easily measure the depth of the crag, and gaze on the conflicting waters +which foamed, struggled, and chafed over the reef below. + +The Fair Maiden of Perth and her companion walked slowly on a path that +ran within this parapet, looked at the romantic prospect, and judged +what it must be when the advancing summer should clothe the grove with +leaves. They observed for some time a deep silence. At length the gay +and bold spirit of the glee maiden rose above the circumstances in which +she had been and was now placed. + +“Do the horrors of Falkland, fair May, still weigh down your spirits? +Strive to forget them as I do: we cannot tread life’s path lightly, if +we shake not from our mantles the raindrops as they fall.” + +“These horrors are not to be forgotten,” answered Catharine. “Yet my +mind is at present anxious respecting my father’s safety; and I cannot +but think how many brave men may be at this instant leaving the world, +even within six miles of us, or little farther.” + +“You mean the combat betwixt sixty champions, of which the Douglas’s +equerry told us yesterday? It were a sight for a minstrel to witness. +But out upon these womanish eyes of mine--they could never see swords +cross each other without being dazzled. But see--look yonder, May +Catharine--look yonder! That flying messenger certainly brings news of +the battle.” + +“Methinks I should know him who runs so wildly,” said Catharine. “But if +it be he I think of, some wild thoughts are urging his speed.” + +As she spoke, the runner directed his course to the garden. Louise’s +little dog ran to meet him, barking furiously, but came back, to +cower, creep, and growl behind its mistress; for even dumb animals can +distinguish when men are driven on by the furious energy of irresistible +passion, and dread to cross or encounter them in their career. The +fugitive rushed into the garden at the same reckless pace. His head was +bare, his hair dishevelled, his rich acton and all his other vestments +looked as if they had been lately drenched in water. His leathern +buskins were cut and torn, and his feet marked the sod with blood. His +countenance was wild, haggard, and highly excited, or, as the Scottish +phrase expresses it, much “raised.” + +“Conachar!” said Catharine, as he advanced, apparently without seeing +what was before him, as hares are said to do when severely pressed by +the greyhounds. But he stopped short when he heard his own name. + +“Conachar,” said Catharine, “or rather Eachin MacIan, what means all +this? Have the Clan Quhele sustained a defeat?” + +“I have borne such names as this maiden gives me,” said the fugitive, +after a moment’s recollection. “Yes, I was called Conachar when I was +happy, and Eachin when I was powerful. But now I have no name, and there +is no such clan as thou speak’st of; and thou art a foolish maid to +speak of that which is not to one who has no existence.” + +“Alas! unfortunate--” + +“And why unfortunate, I pray you?” exclaimed the youth. “If I am coward +and villain, have not villainy and cowardice command over the elements? +Have I not braved the water without its choking me, and trod the firm +earth without its opening to devour me? And shall a mortal oppose my +purpose?” + +“He raves, alas!” said Catharine. “Haste to call some help. He will not +harm me; but I fear he will do evil to himself. See how he stares down +on the roaring waterfall!” + +The glee woman hastened to do as she was ordered, and Conachar’s half +frenzied spirit seemed relieved by her absence. + +“Catharine,” he said, “now she is gone, I will say I know thee--I know +thy love of peace and hatred of war. But hearken; I have, rather than +strike a blow at my enemy, given up all that a man calls dearest: I have +lost honour, fame, and friends, and such friends! (he placed his hands +before his face). Oh! their love surpassed the love of woman! Why should +I hide my tears? All know my shame; all should see my sorrow. Yes, all +might see, but who would pity it? Catharine, as I ran like a madman down +the strath, man and woman called ‘shame’ on me! The beggar to whom I +flung an alms, that I might purchase one blessing, threw it back in +disgust, and with a curse upon the coward! Each bell that tolled rung +out, ‘Shame on the recreant caitiff!’ The brute beasts in their lowing +and bleating, the wild winds in their rustling and howling, the hoarse +waters in their dash and roar, cried, ‘Out upon the dastard!’ The +faithful nine are still pursuing me; they cry with feeble voice, ‘Strike +but one blow in our revenge, we all died for you!’” + +While the unhappy youth thus raved, a rustling was heard in the bushes. + +“There is but one way!” he exclaimed, springing upon the parapet, but +with a terrified glance towards the thicket, through which one or two +attendants were stealing, with the purpose of surprising him. But the +instant he saw a human form emerge from the cover of the bushes, he +waved his hands wildly over his head, and shrieking out, “Bas air +Eachin!” plunged down the precipice into the raging cataract beneath. + +It is needless to say, that aught save thistledown must have been dashed +to pieces in such a fall. But the river was swelled, and the remains of +the unhappy youth were never seen. A varying tradition has assigned more +than one supplement to the history. It is said by one account, that the +young captain of Clan Quhele swam safe to shore, far below the Linns of +Campsie; and that, wandering disconsolately in the deserts of Rannoch, +he met with Father Clement, who had taken up his abode in the wilderness +as a hermit, on the principle of the old Culdees. He converted, it is +said, the heart broken and penitent Conachar, who lived with him in his +cell, sharing his devotion and privations, till death removed them in +succession. + +Another wilder legend supposes that he was snatched from death by the +daione shie, or fairy folk, and that he continues to wander through wood +and wild, armed like an ancient Highlander, but carrying his sword in +his left hand. The phantom appears always in deep grief. Sometimes he +seems about to attack the traveller, but, when resisted with courage, +always flies. These legends are founded on two peculiar points in his +story--his evincing timidity and his committing suicide--both of them +circumstances almost unexampled in the history of a mountain chief. + +When Simon Glover, having seen his friend Henry duly taken care of in +his own house in Curfew Street, arrived that evening at the Place of +Campsie, he found his daughter extremely ill of a fever, in consequence +of the scenes to which she had lately been a witness, and particularly +the catastrophe of her late playmate. The affection of the glee maiden +rendered her so attentive and careful a nurse, that the glover said it +should not be his fault if she ever touched lute again, save for her own +amusement. + +It was some time ere Simon ventured to tell his daughter of Henry’s late +exploits, and his severe wounds; and he took care to make the most of +the encouraging circumstance, that her faithful lover had refused both +honour and wealth rather than become a professed soldier and follow the +Douglas. Catharine sighed deeply and shook her head at the history of +bloody Palm Sunday on the North Inch. But apparently she had reflected +that men rarely advance in civilisation or refinement beyond the ideas +of their own age, and that a headlong and exuberant courage, like that +of Henry Smith, was, in the iron days in which they lived, preferable to +the deficiency which had led to Conachar’s catastrophe. If she had +any doubts on the subject, they were removed in due time by Henry’s +protestations, so soon as restored health enabled him to plead his own +cause. + +“I should blush to say, Catharine, that I am even sick of the thoughts +of doing battle. Yonder last field showed carnage enough to glut a +tiger. I am therefore resolved to hang up my broadsword, never to be +drawn more unless against the enemies of Scotland.” + +“And should Scotland call for it,” said Catharine, “I will buckle it +round you.” + +“And, Catharine,” said the joyful glover, “we will pay largely for soul +masses for those who have fallen by Henry’s sword; and that will not +only cure spiritual flaws, but make us friends with the church again.” + +“For that purpose, father,” said Catharine, “the hoards of the wretched +Dwining may be applied. He bequeathed them to me; but I think you would +not mix his base blood money with your honest gains?” + +“I would bring the plague into my house as soon,” said the resolute +glover. + +The treasures of the wicked apothecary were distributed accordingly +among the four monasteries; nor was there ever after a breath of +suspicion concerning the orthodoxy of old Simon or his daughter. + +Henry and Catharine were married within four months after the battle +of the North Inch, and never did the corporations of the glovers and +hammermen trip their sword dance so featly as at the wedding of the +boldest burgess and brightest maiden in Perth. Ten months after, a +gallant infant filled the well spread cradle, and was rocked by Louise +to the tune of-- + + Bold and true, + In bonnet blue. + +The names of the boy’s sponsors are recorded, as “Ane Hie and Michty +Lord, Archibald Erl of Douglas, ane Honorabil and gude Knicht, Schir +Patrick Charteris of Kinfauns, and ane Gracious Princess, Marjory +Dowaire of his Serene Highness David, umquhile Duke of Rothsay.” + +Under such patronage a family rises fast; and several of the most +respected houses in Scotland, but especially in Perthshire, and many +individuals distinguished both in arts and arms, record with pride their +descent from the Gow Chrom and the Fair Maid of Perth. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s The Fair Maid of Perth, by Sir Walter Scott + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FAIR MAID OF PERTH *** + +***** This file should be named 7987-0.txt or 7987-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/9/8/7987/ + +Produced by Martin Robb + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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